Where The Heart Is
by GallifreyGal
Summary: Sometimes Steve Rogers thinks he is a collection of fragments, nothing more. He is bits and pieces of memory, of remembered quotes and scraps of ideology. He is the Howling Commando's tavern songs. He is Brooklyn, he is 1944, he is a soldier, he is a Captain. But his scraps no longer line up with the world. His world no longer exists-so why does he?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is _Where the Heart Is_, prequel to _A Lesson in Domesticity_, but it is by no means necessary to read that story in order to understand this one. This is a prequel, after all. This story is already completed and each new chapter will be posted three days apart. In total, the word count is around 55k. Reviews are appreciated!

_April 26__th__, 2014, 08:22 _

_Location: Unknown_

It was quiet, but it was not silent. Silence, Steve thought, did not really exist. There would always be noise, even if it was just the noise of his own breathing. At the moment, the noise was the breathing of the six Avengers, the _drip drip drip_ of water from the leaky, rusted faucet in the corner of the cell, and the almost inaudible hum of Tony's arc reactor. The other man watched Steve intensely. Steve could feel his blue gaze boring holes into his face, but Steve would not meet his eyes. He already knew what he would find there. Determination. Resignation. Steve didn't want to see either of those things.

This was, he knew, the calm before the storm. Bruce sat in the corner opposite the faucet, doing some sort of breathing exercise. Natasha stood with Clint on the other side of the room, the pair of them looking like agents out of one of those _James Bond _films Tony had introduced him to, with Natasha still in her slinky, blue evening gown and Clint in his tux. Even after these two years of teamwork, Natasha kept one eye on Bruce. Steve couldn't blame her. If his mind weren't so focused on Tony, he'd be watching the big guy, too. Even Thor, who sat next to Bruce, did not seem entirely comfortable. The only one who had no concerns whatsoever about Bruce's state of mind (the only one who never did), was Tony, who sat on the cot, staring at Steve.

Steve wondered how he was managing to stay calm despite all this. Steve wondered if he was having flashbacks to his time in captivity—after all, this couldn't be much different. He'd probably slept on a dirty cot identical to the one on which he now rested, probably listened to the _drip drip drip_ of a similar faucet, probably drove himself insane listening to the hum of first the electromagnet and then the arc reactor in the near silence of those caves. Near silence, Steve reasoned, the only type of silence a human could ever truly hear short of sleep or deafness, was much worse than silence. Near-silence was irritating, filled with all those little noises one usually ignored, usually did not realize were there. Near-silence, in the absence of other sound, drew attention to its own imperfection, and drew attention to the unrelenting cacophony of the world. If Steve had to be alone in a cave for months, the near-silence would drive him mad.

It was for this reason that Steve was the one to break the quiet.

"Stop looking at me like that, Tony," Steve said firmly. "I'm not letting you do this and that's final."

"One life or six billion, Steve," Tony replied. "And if we don't get that door open, we go down with the rest of the world, anyway."

"We'll think of another escape plan," Steve snapped.

"You forget you're talking to a genius, Rogers, if there was a better alternative, I would have _already thought of it_," Tony said, sounding just as irritated.

"I don't know why we're even considering this," Steve said angrily. "No one else backs you up on this, do they?" Steve sent out the challenge to the rest of the cell. He was met with silence. Steve looked at Tony, triumphant. "There. You're out voted."

They lapsed into tense near-silence once more, but not for long. Steve was not blind. He could see the look on his teammates' faces. Discomfort. Dismay. Dissent.

"Steve, you know that none of us _want_ Tony to do this," Natasha spoke finally, and of course it would be Natasha. For her it was practical realities above emotional attachments, always. She spoke carefully, like there was a bomb in the room that might explode if she made one small mistake in speed or tone or word choice. Maybe that was exactly what would happen, though Steve didn't know if the explosion was going to come from him, from Bruce, or from Tony's chest.

"I heard a 'but' in there, and I'm not liking where this is going, Natasha," Steve said in a warning tone. Natasha's expression changed from soft to hard in an instant.

"None of us _like_ where this going, Captain_,_" she said. "But if we don't stop it, the Pulse will destroy this world. If that portal opens, we're done."

"Fuck Loki and his portals," Steve swore. Clint, Thor, and Tony all started a bit. It was one reason Steve rarely ever swore—when he did, they knew he meant business. "Nobody's dying on my watch, and sure as _fuck_ nobody's _ripping out their own goddamn heart_!" Steve said it violently, vehemently, but he could see the glances his teammates shared.

_He's making the wrong call._

_ His judgment is clouded._

_ We might have to knock him out._

_ Maybe Thor could restrain him_.

Steve could practically hear their thoughts. He knew his teammates too well by now. Bruce, whose head was still resting on his knees, would be the only one to back Steve up, he knew. Bruce wouldn't let Tony do this, either.

"Technically speaking it's not my heart, it's an electromagnet—" Tony started, but Steve cut him off.

"Cut the _shit_ Stark, I'm not in the mood for you to throw around technicalities—"

"It's an important technicality, Steve," Tony said seriously. "I'm not ripping out my heart, I'm ripping out the power source to a magnet that keeps shrapnel from _entering_ my heart. Look, once I do this, I will have some time before… It's risky but I _might_ not die."

"It's suicidal and you know it," Steve replied.

"Well then I'm dead if I do, and I'm dead if I don't, Rogers, because we're _all_ dead if I don't," Tony said. "You don't have a better plan, and we're running out of time."

"Steve, he's got a point—"

"Shut _up_, Clint."

Steve felt a big, broad hand land on his shoulder. Thor stared down at him sorrowfully. He shook his head.

"We all love the man of iron, Captain, though not as you do. None wish to see him harmed. Least of all me, from my brother's terrible schemes. But you must see reason. There is no other way out."

"_I think I'd just cut the wire." _Steve remembered every moment he'd spent with Tony over the past two years, but their bad beginning stood in particular clarity. _"Always a way out_._" _He couldn't have been more wrong about Tony. Tony couldn't have been more right about him.

"This isn't reason, this is haste. We have to find an alternative," Steve demanded. "I won't let you do this. And neither will Bruce, will you, Dr. Banner?" Steve looked over to him. His forehead still rested on his knees, but he turned his head and regarded Steve with one eye. Steve's heart sank.

"Tony's right this time, Steve," Bruce said slowly. "We might be able to get him to another power source in time. We don't have another choice. There is no alternative." The cot squeaked loudly as Tony quickly moved to lie down.

"All right, let's get this over with. We've wasted enough time as it is," he said, unbuttoning his tuxedo shirt. Steve grabbed at his hands.

"_No_," he said. Tony smirked, but it was not as full of humor as it usually was.

"Now Captain, this is no time to get prudish," Tony said. Steve just stared at him. This was wrong. This was all wrong. Tony gently extricated his hands from Steve's, continuing to unbutton the tuxedo shirt.

There was so much that Steve wanted to say, needed to say. How could he say it, in this cramped little room where every drip could be heard and their teammates hovered around them? He was supposed to say it on a trip to Coney Island, or an evening on the beach, or after a motorbike ride through the countryside, or even just in bed. But this was all wrong. He felt himself being pulled back gently by Thor as Tony removed the shirt entirely.

"Bruce, can you—?" Tony asked, and Bruce got up and walked to his bedside as Tony, shirtless and propped up on his elbows, explained to him how to overload the locking mechanism on the door. It was simple science, science Bruce already knew, but Tony had to be sure. He had to be sure that if he was sacrificing his life, the plan would work.

Steve looked around the room. Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Thor, not to mention Tony himself—there was no way he could take all of them on. And even if he could, he would never know if it was the right decision. If they could get out of this room, they might stand a chance at saving the world. If they couldn't get out, then it was as bad as Natasha said. The Pulse would destroy it all. Steve left Thor's easy grasp and sat beside Tony on the cot.

"We do this, and I'm carrying you out. No damn arguments, Tony," Steve said fiercely. "I'm carrying you out, and Thor, Natasha, Bruce, and Clint can handle the situation temporarily while you and I find an alternate power source. Do you understand?"

"Steve, we have no idea what you'll be running into—"

"I said no arguments," Steve said. He leaned down and kissed Tony fiercely, and to the surprise of no one in the room except, perhaps, Tony, said, "I love you, you idiot. You're not dying on my watch."

"No one's ever called me an idiot in my life," Tony said, mock aghast. Or maybe he really was aghast, with that ego of his sometimes Steve couldn't tell the difference. He just rolled his eyes.

Tony wouldn't say it. Tony couldn't say it, _shouldn't_ say it, under the circumstances. But that was ok. They would have plenty of time to get there. _They would have time_. They had to. Tony laid back on the cot. His hands shook as he slowly removed the arc reactor from its casing. Steve had never quite realized how deep it went into Tony's body. He wondered if it was painful, always painful. But then, it would be more painful once fully removed. A wire dangled between the reactor and the casing.

"Bruce?" Tony asked. Bruce gently took the reactor. Tony gripped the cord. He looked Steve in the eyes.

"Now, don't get us _both_ killed on the way out," he joked.

"Not a chance," Steve replied, a lump building in his throat and panic seizing his chest in a way that reminded him terribly of his asthma attacks from _before_. He squeezed Tony's hand. Tony took a deep breath.

And then Tony Stark ripped out his heart.

_July 22__nd__, 1944, 18:43_

_Location: London, England_

_The Red Lion Pub, Westminster_

"I'm not sure if you're a strategic genius," said a familiar, silky voice from behind him, "or more reckless even than Howard Stark." Peggy pulled up a chair beside him and sat down. They were in a new pub, one that hadn't been caught in the blitz. Steve didn't like this one as much, but then, he'd never been great with change. Peggy just looked at him for a moment with a raised eyebrow, fully expecting an answer. For a minute, he just stared at her, drinking her in, with her full red lips, her glossy brown hair, and deep brown eyes. She was a work of art, and as improper as it was, he wanted nothing more than to strip her bare and see just how that sculpture worked all over. But more than that, Steve wanted to draw her, wanted to paint her, because there was an essence about her that could not be captured with words. She was more than alluring, more than magnetic—she was strong, she was sharply intelligent, and she had a good heart. Steve was going to marry her as soon as this war was won, he was sure of that, if only she'd have him.

Steve put down his drink. It wouldn't get him drunk anyway. Peggy knew that as well as he did. It couldn't numb the pain of losing Bucky, couldn't steel his nerves for the mission they would set off on the very next morning. Not that he would want it to, anyway. He had seen what relying on the drink could do to a person, could do to a family.

"Well I don't know about strategic genius," Steve said, "so it's probably the latter. But you know I wouldn't risk my boys unnecessarily. This is our best shot, Peggy. I really believe that."

"Oh, I didn't say I disagree with you," Peggy clarified. "I just think you might be mad."

"Mad times," Steve replied. Something changed in Peggy's expression. A small line appeared between her eyebrows.

"They are. Steve, I just want to make sure…this has nothing to do with Sergeant Barnes, does it?" Peggy asked cautiously. Steve smiled slightly.

"I'm not suicidal, Peggy," he said. "Even if I were, I wouldn't be endangering my men or my mission. I'd wait until the end of the war, see if I even lived through it first. But I think you'll remember that I'm kind of hoping for a different ending."

"Dancing," Peggy replied with a nod and a small, playful smile of her own. Steve wondered if dancing had become their own double entendre, just as he had thought _fondue_ might have been between her and Howard.

"With the right partner," Steve added. In the most forward thing he'd ever done, he reached for Peggy's hand and squeezed it gently. Peggy just smiled, and then their conversation ceased as they listened to Jacques hit the piano and the other Howling Commandos start doing what they did best—well, second best, maybe, second to fighting—howling away at some bawdy tune that made Steve blush and Peggy roll her eyes.

Overall, it was a lovely, but unremarkable night. It was the last night Steve would ever see of 1944.

_August 9__th__, 2012, 14:16_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

"Live in Stark Tower?" Steve repeated. He still couldn't believe that Tony Stark was in his doorway. He looked all wrong standing there. He wore a dark suit with a blue shirt and tie. The tie alone probably cost more than Steve made in a month at his job as a sketch artist with the NYPD. Tony looked immensely out of place, standing on the old shag carpet (a phase of the seventies, Steve had been informed) in his Italian leather shoes.

"Yeah, Stark Tower. Live there. Bruce is already all moved in. Natasha and Clint are packing their stuff. Thor—well, he's got a room, but I doubt he'll be around much. I've heard it takes time and effort, you know, ruling whole planets," Tony removed his sunglasses and looked around the apartment, grimacing. "If you don't say yes in the next thirty seconds I will be deeply insulted because have you _seen_ this place? Isn't this NYC Housing Authority housing? AKA 'the projects'? It's a good thing you're a super soldier or we might have to worry about you turning up in a ditch somewhere one of these days." Steve frowned, even though he saw what Tony saw. Hard sofas picked up at the local second-hand store that didn't match and hid suspicious stains on the undersides of the cushions, an empty mantel, bare walls, a kitchen with appliances so outdated they were nearly as old as Steve was.

"I like my apartment," he said. It wasn't a lie. The apartment was cozy enough, even if it smelled like cabbage half the time and pot from the guy next door the other half. It was old, like him. It was in Brooklyn. This apartment, specifically, had not been his, but he'd lived in the building before the war. Tony just snorted.

"Well that's the most hilarious thing I've heard all day. Come on, pack your bags, doesn't look like you have much here anyway—you're not bringing those couches they're a crime against humanity," Tony said with obvious disgust. Steve shook his head, and kept his temper in check. Throwing insults for Tony, Steve was beginning to realize, was like breathing. Unavoidable, necessary, and automatic.

"I like my apartment, Tony. I think I'll stay here. But thank you. It's a real nice offer," Steve said sincerely. But, true to his word, Tony looked offended.

"What—seriously?" It had never occurred to Tony, that much was clear, that his offer might be turned away. An apartment in Manhattan, with a nice view of the skyline, entirely rent-free—who would turn that away? A fool, of course. Or a kid from Brooklyn.

"Yes, seriously," Steve said stubbornly. "I like it here."

"Ok, but, look, first all that stuff in New York happened, and then we all went our separate ways and now—nothing. No contact. Doesn't it bother you? We're a team. We should be more team like. It just so happens that I've got this awesome clubhouse we can all live in together." Tony said. Steve scratched at the back of his head.

"I don't know, Tony," Steve said. "Look, I know you've been handling this nightmare with the press—"

"With no help from anyone else," Tony said, and Steve sensed more than a little bitterness in his tone. It was entirely justified, Steve couldn't deny that.

"—Which we all _really appreciate_. You're the…the public face and all. But uh, don't you think having us all in one tower in New York would be a little conspicuous? I mean, eventually Clint and Natasha and I won't have…um, _not_ public faces."

"Are you trying to say that you have a secret identity?" Tony asked. Steve couldn't tell if Stark was disbelieving or amused, but Steve felt himself flush with embarrassment.

"Sort of," Steve mumbled. "And I—I'd rather not be Captain America all the time. Besides that, it's strategically flawed—you don't put all your heavy hitters in one location for extended periods of time."

"I have the best security of anyone in the nation, hell, the world, probably. And since no one knows who you are, no one's going to think twice about you coming and going from the building. No one needs to know you're all living there, except S.H.I.E.L.D. Hell I wouldn't even tell them except I know those two super spies already have," Tony said. Steve just shook his head.

"I really appreciate the offer, Tony, but I'm just going to stay here," he said, almost apologetically.

"Fine, Capsicle, just hang out here by yourself. Don't come join the clubhouse. What do I care?" he said, obviously annoyed. He opened the door to go.

"It's a really nice offer, Tony. Tony—" Steve tried in vain to salvage the situation, but Tony was already walking out the door and down the hall. Steve sighed as soon as Tony was out of sight. He didn't understand that man. Not one bit. It was a feeling he was entirely unfamiliar with.

Well, almost entirely.

_December 18__th__, 1943, 15:35_

_Location: London, England_

_Cabinet War Rooms, Westminster_

"I'm not sure if you're the bravest man in the Allied armies," Stark spoke, "or just the craziest." Stark handed him the shield. It was really a work of art as much as it was a defensive weapon. It was now shiny with a new paint job, all red, white, and blue, with a star right in the center. It was perfect.

"I don't do anything more than any of the other men do," Steve replied. Stark just laughed.

"Oh, I'm not talking about the war, Rogers, though no doubt what you just said is a lie," Stark said. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I'm talking about Peggy Carter."

"What about her?" Steve asked, baffled.

"Well, see, me, I flirt with her because, really, I can't help myself. Who could, around beauty like that? But you—you're _sweet_ on her. There's a difference," Stark said. "See, I wouldn't expect anything. Except maybe a, uh, late night fondue. And that'd be it. But you—you seem to be pulling for the long haul. And with a dame like that?" Stark whistled. "Pal, you're just asking for a lifetime of 'yes dear'. She took three shots at you a week ago and—while I am not denying the incredible sexual appeal of that—you're still gunning for her. I think you're a bit touched in the head, my friend." Steve chuckled a bit.

"Peggy can hold her own. That's one of the best things about her. Anyone saying any different hasn't got his head screwed on right," he replied. Stark just shook his head with a grin.

"Whatever you say, pal. Just gotta say, better you than me," he said. Stark nodded to the shield. "How's it feel?"

"Like a million bucks," Steve said. Stark laughed again.

"Oh, it's a lot more than that," he said. Steve felt the blood drain from his face. Stark just kept on laughing, and he slapped Steve on the back. "And so were you, truth be told. All put together, you're a very expensive bit of military technology, Rogers." Stark leaned against the table and folded his arms, giving Steve a once-over. "And how's the new costume?" Steve rolled his eyes.

"Uniform. Just. Slightly more ostentatious," he said. Stark laughed again.

"Whatever you say, pal," he said again. Then he gave him another once-over. "But I've gotta say, I've never seen a military uniform that showed off an ass quite like that one does." Steve felt his face turn bright red, and Stark just kept on laughing. He was a very cheerful guy, considering they were at war. Steve figured it must have something to do with making piles and piles of cash off of military contracts.

"Well," said Steve dryly, for lack of anything else better to say, "perhaps they should." Stark grinned.

"Well, you'd like that wouldn't you?" he said. Steve panicked momentarily, before Stark admitted, "Don't worry. So would I." Which left Steve reeling just a bit. But then Stark just laughed again and told him to change back into his regular uniform. _"Can't have everybody staring at that ass. They might go blind from its sheer, luminous perfection."_ But when Steve came back from changing, it was like nothing revolutionary had happened at all, like that small conversation never took place. Had it? Had it even meant anything? Stark was back to flirting with the secretary so fast it made Steve's head spin. So Steve didn't know. And he would never, Steve figured, quite understand Howard Stark.

_August 13__th__, 2012, 16:17_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Stark Tower – Lobby, Manhattan_

Steve felt immensely uncomfortable. This was only a slight distinction from the general level of discomfort Steve now felt on a daily basis, feeling like a foreigner in his own country, in his own hometown, but even so, Steve didn't like passing that general threshold.

He'd cleaned himself up as best he could, put on a new pair of black slacks, bought some dress shoes and a dress shirt. He'd left the leather jacket back at his apartment. He didn't want to look as out of place as he felt, in the middle of Manhattan, walking into Stark Tower.

He'd tried to call Tony to tell him he was coming, but Tony's number wasn't in his contacts list on the SHIELD issued cell phone he had. In fact, there were only four contacts in that phone: Natasha, Clint, Fury, and his supervisor at NYPD. Fury had told him that if he ever called him for anything other than a dire emergency, he'd tan his hide. Actually, the phrasing had been more creative than that, something about being strung up by his toes and dragged by the helicarrier. Natasha and Clint were, likewise, work contacts. He'd thought about putting Peggy's number in his phone, but he didn't think she would appreciate a random call from a long dead flame-that-wasn't. Everyone else was dead.

So, lacking a number, Steve did the most logical thing he could think of—he walked into Stark Tower and went straight up to the reception desk. A brunette woman with hair that was slicked back into a perfect bun gazed up at him from under her square, black glasses with apparent disdain.

"Can I help you?" she asked, sounding for all the world like Steve's very presence was a nuisance. It was funny, Steve hadn't gotten that response from a woman since before the serum. He appreciated the change of pace.

"Yes, I'm looking for Tony Stark?" Steve said. The woman stared at him for a moment. Steve stared right back, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Sir, I don't have time for practical jokes. Can I help you with something?" she said at last.

"It's not a joke, I'd like to speak with him," Steve said insistently. She looked him up and down carefully.

"Just so I can say I'm doing my job, do you have an appointment?"

"Well, no, but—"

"If you don't have an appointment, then I can't help you. Please leave the premises," she said.

"Ma'am, I understand that you're just doing your job, but I'd really appreciate it if you could tell him—"

"I do not leave messages for the CEO. Nor am I Iron Man's publicist. I'm the receptionist for Stark Industries, New York Offices. If you have business with our division, state it. Otherwise, I have to ask you again to leave the premises," the receptionist said coolly.

"But he _lives _here," Steve said. "Can't you just—isn't there a buzzer or something…?" The look the woman gave Steve made him nearly wince with his own stupidity. Of course he couldn't just waltz in and talk to Tony. She thought he was crazy, no doubt about that. He _was_ crazy. There were no _buzzers_ in a building like this, with a man as important as Tony Stark.

"If you want to speak with Mr. Stark, I suggest you contact his personal assistant," the receptionist said sharply. "I will not ask you again to leave the premises."

"Look, I know how this must sound, but I _know_ the guy—"

"You and half of New York if the crazy people I have to deal with day in and day out are any indication," the receptionist snapped. Steve hadn't seen her press a button, but two very large men (larger than Steve, which Steve found impressive) in suits started towards him.

"Could you just tell him Steve Rogers is waiting in reception? Please?" Steve asked. The receptionist just stared back at him blandly.

"I am not," she said, as Steve felt two big hands grip his arms, "Mr. Stark's personal secretary." Steve felt himself being steered towards the door ("Let's go, pal," one of the guards said, confirming to Steve that he was living in a C-list action film) just as a redhead in deadly heels approached the counter. Steve wished it was Natasha, but this woman's hair was too light.

"What about Mr. Stark's personal secretary?" she asked. "Did you need something, Amelia?" _Mr. Stark's personal secretary_. Steve easily twisted out of the guards' hold and turned around.

"Pepper Potts? It's Miss Potts, right?" Steve asked. The redheaded woman looked up at him. She squinted at him a little, trying to place him, Steve knew. She was very pretty, which was really no surprise. Rumor had it, though Steve hated to listen to gossip, that she was Stark's sweetheart. One of the guards grabbed him again, more forcefully this time, but Steve yanked away. People had stopped going about their business to watch now. "I'm Steve—" The other guard grabbed him, and Steve had to twist out of his grasp again. "—Rogers. Look I just came by to apologize—" Both of the guards grabbed him at once, and Steve had to weasel his way out from their grip again. One guard yanked him back hard enough to put him on the ground. Steve, not expecting such a violent reaction, fell backwards, hitting his head on the floor.

"Theodore!" he heard Miss Potts admonish. Steve got up easily, rubbing the sore spot on his head.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't mean to cause any trouble," Steve said, feeling rather humiliated. What had he been thinking? "I'll get going. I'd appreciate it if you'd tell Tony I was here, but I'll understand if you don't. I'll be going now."

"No, no—Theodore _stop_—Captain Rogers, you can come with me, I'll take you to Tony," Miss Potts said quickly.

"Why didn't you say you were _military_?" the receptionist demanded.

"I—" Steve had nothing to say for himself, so he was grateful when Miss Potts tugged on his arm gently, leading him into the elevator. As soon as the doors were shut behind them, Miss Potts regarded him with an amused expression, but said nothing. Steve felt even more intensely uncomfortable. This had been a terrible idea.

"I don't know what I was thinking," Steve said apologetically. "I didn't mean to cause a scene, ma'am. I just want to apologize to Tony. I didn't like how we left things last Thursday,"

"Why didn't you call?" Miss Potts asked.

"I don't have his number," Steve admitted, embarrassed. "Or your number. I'm really sorry, Miss Potts—"

"Pepper, please, Captain Rogers," Pepper said. Steve nodded.

"Steve, please, Pepper," Steve said.

"Steve it is. It's nice to meet you. Tony's said a lot about you," Pepper said. Steve laughed.

"That's a very diplomatic way of putting it, I'm sure. I can see why he hired you in the first place," Steve said. "It's very nice to meet you, Pepper." Pepper smiled.

The elevator finally chimed and the doors opened, revealing the opulent penthouse Steve remembered from those few brief moments just two months ago, though the penthouse looked decidedly less smashed now. Tony was flipping through a hologram on a table, and boy, there just really was no escaping this crazy science fiction future that was now his reality. Tony was dressed informally, in sweats and a _Black Sabbath_ t-shirt (was it a band? A movie? An inside joke? A cult? Steve had no idea) that clung insistently to his lean form and was thin enough that the arc reactor shone through. For a man in his forties, Tony Stark was well put together.

"Pepper I thought you were going to that—" Tony started, until he looked up and saw the two of them. One corner of his mouth curled downwards.

"Oh. Rogers. What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I just wanted to apologize, Tony," Steve said. Tony's eyebrows stuck together.

"What for?" he asked.

"Thursday," Steve said. "It was really nice—your offer—and I really didn't mean to offend you—"

"Water under the bridge, Cap," Tony said, waving it off. "Weren't you going to that thing, Pep?"

"I thought I'd bring the Captain up here. He was having a little trouble at reception," Pepper said. Steve felt himself blush.

"Reception? Why didn't you just call?" Tony asked, baffled.

"I don't have your number," Steve admitted. "Look, Tony—"

"Hey, Pep, while you're here, you mind taking a look at these financials R&D just sent up?" Tony asked, holding out a tablet that he picked up off a table.

"I'm going, Tony. _One_ of us has to be at that meeting," Pepper reminded him. Tony snorted.

"Better you than me. All right, bye then, Pepper. Captain," Tony said with a nod. He went back to the hologram. Steve knew a dismissal when he heard one. Resigned, he followed Pepper back into the elevator. He still didn't feel right about things. The doors to the elevator shut and he could feel Pepper watching him.

"Sorry again to have caused so much trouble, ma'am," Steve said, not looking at her. He felt far too humiliated. Why had he thought this was a good idea? Why had he thought a man like Tony Stark would have time for a guy like Steve Rogers? Of course he was busy. Of course he didn't have time to listen to an apology. Of course Steve was a nuisance. He should have seen that coming.

"Can I ask you something?" Pepper asked. Steve looked at her. She an honest, open face. Steve nodded.

"Of course," he said.

"Why didn't you want to come live in Stark Tower?" she asked. Steve sighed.

"I like Brooklyn, ma'am. I've never lived outside Brooklyn, unless you count my time overseas in the war," Steve said. "It's changed a lot. I hardly recognize it. But it's still Brooklyn. It's still home. It's all I have left." Steve hadn't meant to say that last sentence. It just sort of slipped out. He averted his gaze, blushing again.

"With your permission, I'd like to tell Tony that," Pepper said evenly, not revealing anything. "I think he misunderstood your reasoning. He took it rather personally." Steve shrugged. He did mind, a bit. It was rather personal. It was more personal than he'd meant to say in the first place. But he didn't want Tony angry with him. The man was a pain enough to work with in a genial mood.

"Sure, Pepper," Steve said just as the elevator stopped and the doors opened. "I really didn't mean to be offensive by it. It really was a nice offer."

"I'll make sure he knows," Pepper said. "Oh, and you should give me your number so this doesn't happen again." Steve smiled tightly.

"Of course," he said. He rattled off the number. Pepper promised to text him later, though he wasn't exactly sure what that meant, and then they went their separate ways. Steve took the subway to get out of Manhattan as fast as he could.

_August 17__th__, 2012, 20:15_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Stark Tower – Penthouse, Manhattan_

Steve had not expected to be back at Stark Tower so soon after his humiliating encounter with security, not to mention his embarrassing dismissal by Tony. But Pepper had texted him (it was like a telegram, only via phone, Steve discovered) and asked him to attend a little house warming party for Natasha, Bruce, Clint, and of course herself and Tony. Steve thought about politely refusing a thousand different times, in a thousand different ways.

_Sorry, Pepper, I have already made plans for that evening_. That was a lie, and hardly believable, anyway. _Thank you for the invitation, Miss Potts, but I must respectfully decline due to previous obligations_. Way too formal, and still a lie. _Sorry Pepper, but I'm just not in the mood for a party._ Selfish. _Sorry, Pepper, but I don't think Tony wants me there_. This was true. This was the obstacle. But he couldn't say it. So he instead he sent off another text.

**Of course I'll be there. Thank you for the invitation.**

Steve immediately wanted to take it back, but he couldn't. To his knowledge, there were still no 'unsend' buttons in the future. He stewed over it for days after. He thought about cancelling on the day of. He thought about claiming to be ill (a lie, again, and far too see-through; he was a super soldier. He didn't get sick.), thought about just not going and claiming to have forgotten afterwards (another lie), thought about saying a friend was sick and he needed to look after them (another lie, and even more see through—he had no friends, and that was obvious). In the end, Steve couldn't do it, not when Pepper had been so unnecessarily kind to him, so he pulled on his khakis and brown leather jacket, and headed over to Stark Tower once more.

This time, at least, the entrance was less awkward. It was after working hours, so the only people in the building were the secretary (a different one, thank goodness), the guards, and a few people working late. This time, Steve had been instructed to go directly to the elevator and punch in a specific code. It took him all the way to the penthouse again, to a small party already in full swing.

There was, of course, Natasha, Clint, Tony, Bruce, and Pepper, but there was also Coulson, Agent Hill, and various people Steve didn't recognize. Tony's friends, Steve figured. Everyone was dressed elegantly, and Steve felt instantly out of place again. Why hadn't Pepper told him it was a formal party? He would have at least put on his black slacks again.

Everyone had a glass of champagne in their hands, and they milled about in happy conversation as soft jazz music played overhead. Steve noticed that Clint lingered by the snack bar. Natasha lingered by Clint. Pepper was chatting with Coulson, Agent Hill with Natasha, and the various people he didn't recognize were all in conversations as well. Steve felt like an intruder, and as he stepped out of the elevator, no one seemed to notice. Was he late? Had he been given the wrong time? A man Steve didn't know approached him. He was a decent sized guy, and he walked with a very straight posture. Army, Steve would bet his life on it.

"Captain Rogers, I presume?" the man said. Steve nodded. Yeah, he was definitely army.

"That would be me," Steve said. The man held out his hand, which Steve took.

"It's an absolute honor to meet you, sir. I'm Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes," the man said. "But everyone calls me Rhodey, sir." Steve smiled slightly.

"Don't know why you're addressing me as sir, Lieutenant Colonel," Steve said. "You outrank me. I'm off-duty, though. Off everything, actually. So it's just Steve. Nice to meet you, Rhodey." Rhodey smiled back, showing off his pearly white teeth.

"I'm surprised you're here, to be completely honest," Rhodey said, migrating slowly back to the rest of the party. Steve followed somewhat reluctantly. "Tony gave me the impression you two didn't get along."

"That'd be the correct impression," Steve admitted. "We don't. Pepper invited me. I don't think he wants me here, but I didn't want to disrespect Miss Potts."

"Tony can be a bit much sometimes," Rhodey agreed, "but I'm sure he doesn't mind you being here. I mean come on, you're Captain America." Steve chuckled.

"I think that's exactly what he dislikes about me," Steve said. Rhodey gave him a curious look, but he dropped the subject. He grabbed a flute of champagne from the bar and handed it over. Steve took it.

"So, how are you finding the twenty-first century, Steve?" he asked. Steve did his best to smile.

"Oh, it's…interesting," he said. Rhodey just nodded, watching him. He looked concerned. It made Steve uncomfortable. He needed to get more convincing about the whole 'this century isn't entirely miserable' thing.

"Well, I'm sure you haven't been introduced to the best bits yet. Have you discovered the internet?" Rhodey asked.

"I have one of those portable computers—a laptop, I think?—Agent Barishnikov went over all the basics. I haven't used it much," Steve said. "But it's useful for looking things up, I've figured that much out, at least."

"How about Netflix?" At Steve's confused look, Rhodey went, "Oh, man, you know you've missed almost a whole century of great films, Netflix would be perfect for you—"

They sat down on a comfortable leather couch. Steve took off his jacket, relaxing a bit more while Rhodey launched into an explanation of Netflix, and recommended some movies he thought Steve might like—_Master and Commander, Patton, Letters from Iwo Jima, The Hurt Locker, The Patriot, Black Hawk Down, The Pianist_—they were all war films, Steve would discover later as he looked them up and decided against watching any of them. Two of the films Rhodey listed, _All Quiet on the Western Front_ and _Sergeant York_, Steve had actually seen, and they had a lively conversation about that for a while. Steve felt more comfortable with Rhodey than he had with anyone else yet this century. The other man was lively, funny, welcoming, and best of all, military. He understood. But inevitably, someone else came over and interrupted, as is the norm for parties.

"Capsicle!" Tony said as he clapped Rhodey on the back. "I didn't know you were coming." Steve could see the warning looks Rhodey was sending Tony. He knew all about that type of silent communication. Steve and Bucky had talked more without words than with them.

"Pepper invited me," Steve explained.

"Oh, I see how it is. You'll come for my girlfriend, but not for me," Tony said. It sounded like it might have been a joke, but Steve felt the need to defend himself.

"No, that's not—"

"You didn't invite him, Tony," Rhodey said, doing his best to defuse the situation. Steve spotted Pepper, who was now chatting with Natasha, and tried to catch her eye.

"I _did_. I invited him to come and be part of all this, but Capsicle here thinks the whole idea is one major security risk," Tony said. Steve shook his head morosely.

"That's really not it—"

"No, I guess it's not, is it? Why don't you just admit that you think you're better than us?"

"_What_?" Steve asked, truly taken aback. Pepper, who had noticed by this point (everyone had noticed by this point; Tony wasn't precisely _quiet_), quickly made her way over to them. Tony just continued on vehemently,

"It's pretty obvious, Captain. You just can't _stand_ the thought of moving in with such inferior people, can you? Can't stand the thought of co-habitating with people with such loose moral values—"

"Tony, that's not—" Steve tried to say, but Tony cut him off.

"—and I bet you just can't stand the thought of having to work with us again, either—"

"Tony, that's enough," Rhodey said.

"—so I don't know why you _bothered_ to show up. So why don't you just go back to your friends in Brooklyn?" Steve stilled. Everyone was staring at them. Pepper had managed to grab Tony's arm, and she was whispering furiously to him. Steve set down his half-full champagne glass on a coffee table and got up.

"I didn't realize I was so unwelcome here," Steve said calmly. He knew Tony hadn't wanted him there, but he still felt stung. Had he really come across that badly? "I apologize. I wouldn't have come if I'd realized. I meant no offense to you, Mr. Stark, either by coming here tonight or by turning down your very generous offer. I tried to apologize earlier this week, you will recall. I certainly don't know what you're talking about, in regards to loose moral values or to working with the team. I've never worked with finer men—or women—than I do now, and that's saying something. The Howling Commandos, my last team, were great men." Steve picked up his jacket and shrugged it on. "As to my friends in Brooklyn, I don't know who you're talking about. If you haven't noticed, it's been a while since I was last in town. All my friends are dead." _Like I should be._

He felt, more than heard, the whole party go silent at that. Well, he'd effectively ruined this shindig. He felt awful. He never should have showed up. He should have said he was sick, should have just told Pepper _no_. Instead he'd caused a big scene. Steve sent an apologetic glance to a horrified looking Pepper before heading for the elevator. He couldn't get away fast enough.

_August 18__th__, 2012, 08:00_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Maybe he should have been expecting it, but he was surprised when his doorbell rang. Steve, of course, had already been up for several hours. He'd gone to workout in the gym at five, and he'd been back in his apartment since seven. He was just about to get started on making second breakfast (a super soldier had to eat quite a lot, after all) when the bell rang. Cautiously, Steve went over and opened the door just a crack, the latch still done up.

There stood a rumpled looking Tony Stark, still in his white suit and pink shirt from the night before, sunglasses just slightly askew on his face, undoubtedly hiding eyes red from drink and a lack of sleep. He carried a box labeled _Randy's Donuts_. Steve started to shut the door again, but Stark put his hand on the door and pushed, to stop him. Of course, if Steve had really, really wanted to shut the door, that wouldn't have stopped him in the least, but Stark's insistence gave him pause.

"Look I'm not good at this sort of thing but Pepper will kill me if I don't apologize. She might actually buy an Iron Maiden and stuff me inside. A fitting end to Iron Man," Stark rambled. Steve started to shut the door again, and Stark pushed back. "I brought donuts! Come on, you've got to like donuts. Not liking donuts would be un-American, and you're _Captain America_ so it's not _possible_ that you don't like donuts. Come on, it's, what? Eight? It's breakfast time, don't tell me you aren't hungry." Steve started to shut the door again, but his traitor stomach growled. "Come on, Rogers, let me in, just give me five minutes—" Steve sighed, shut the door for real, undid the latch, and opened it up again, to see Stark's disappearing back.

"Stark," Steve called. Stark turned around, surprised. "Five minutes." Stark came inside and set the donuts on the table as Steve shut the door. Stark opened the box.

"I got one of all the classics, I didn't know what your favorite was. There's a Boston crème pie, and a bearclaw, and tiger tails, and chocolate glaze, and just plain glaze and something with jelly and—well, I have no idea what this is actually but it's probably tasty—" Stark said all of this very quickly. To shut him up, Steve reached into the box and plucked out the plain glaze. "Plain? Really? You would—" Steve raised an eyebrow. "Right, yeah, apologies don't usually include insults, do they? Right. So, can we just say I've apologized? Because that's why I came here. With donuts. From California. To apologize. It's a peace offering. I was rude last night. I apologize."

"Thanks for the donuts," Steve said with a nod. "You can tell Pepper you've apologized." Tony looked at him suspiciously.

"So…that's it? We're good, then?" Stark asked.

"I don't know Tony, were we good when you told me the whole Stark Tower thing was water under the bridge?" Steve asked irritably. Stark winced.

"Ok, yeah, fair enough. Look, how can I make this up to you? You want better couches? Because seriously those couches are—" Stark shut up. Steve's glare probably had something to do with that. "Right. Sorry. Insults." Steve rolled his eyes.

"You just can't speak like a normal human being, can you?" he asked. Stark looked up, as if in thought for a moment.

"No. Nope. Don't think I can," Stark replied. "Does that mean I'm forgiven? Because I really can't help it. Zebra can't change its spots, giraffe can't change its stripes, and all that."

"It's the other way around—never mind. Look, Tony, I said I was sorry about the Tower thing. I like it here in Brooklyn. I'm sorry if that upsets you, but it has nothing to do with you. Not everything does," Steve said. Perhaps he didn't have to be so biting about it, but he wasn't feeling particularly generous today.

"I know, I know, I was a jerk. Am I forgiven yet?" Tony asked. He looked up at Steve, his big brown eyes wide, like a puppy. Steve just laughed and shook his head.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," he said. Stark sighed in exaggerated relief.

"Oh, good. I'm safe from the Iron Maiden," Tony said. Then he grinned. "The Iron Maiden—maybe that should be Pepper's new nickname."

"Only if you don't overly value your testicles," Steve said with a snort.

"Was that a joke? Did Spangles just joke? And I was the only witness? No one will believe me!" Tony said. Steve just rolled his eyes again. He tended to do that in Stark's presence. Tony took a donut from the box and headed for the door. He turned around just as he opened it. "Oh, and uh, about the whole, 'all my friends are dead thing' which, Jesus, Rogers, morbid much? Anyway not all your friends are dead. Last time I checked, there were quite a few of them living in Stark Tower. Just something to think about." Tony waltzed out the door after that, leaving Steve with donuts and conflicted feelings.

So, just a regular encounter with Tony Stark.

_September 2__nd__, 2012, 22:43_

_Location: San Francisco, CA, USA_

_Golden Gate Bridge_

"I think we did ok!" Tony said, lifting up his faceplate. Steve looked at the bridge, the _Golden Gate Bridge_. Half of it was collapsed in the water. Sirens rang out through the night as firefighters and ambulances rushed to put out fires and tend to victims. The air smelled of smoke.

"I think," said Steve, "that we need to train, as a team, and not just come together in emergency situations." Sure, they'd managed to capture all the Bildshnipe that had been released to cause havoc in San Francisco, but not without a rather lot of collateral damage.

"But we did _ok_, right?"

Steve just sighed.

_September 15__th__, 2012, 09:33_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Triskelion – Gym, Manhattan_

Steve was not a fan of working out in, or being anywhere near, the Triskelion. It was the place where he'd woken up, the place where he _thought_ he'd been captured by HYDRA or the Nazis. It was not a place with good memories. But it had the most state-of-the-art gym and was thus the best place for the Avengers to practice all together. Well, all together without Thor, but that was how it usually went. Stark was, as per usual, fighting in his armor.

"Set phasers to stun," he'd joked the first time he'd brought it to the gym, but Steve didn't understand what was funny. Bruce laughed, though. Stark had set up his weaponry to just throw out bursts of light in training mode. Steve watched him and Natasha spar for a minute, until Stark managed to 'blast' her with some light, ending the match.

"Stark," Steve called out. Tony turned towards him and lifted the faceplate.

"Yeah?"

"Take off the suit," he said.

"Is Steve Rogers asking me to strip? Naughty, naughty, Captain, I didn't know you swung that way," Tony said.

"Yeah, well, you don't know a lot about me. Take off the suit," Steve said, ignoring Stark's antics. Natasha went off to practice with Clint while Stark took off the armor.

"So what's this about O Captain, My Captain?" Stark asked.

"You know the Captain's dead, right?" Steve asked.

"What?"

"In the poem. The Captain is dead," Steve said.

"Oh, that's not—never mind. What's this about?" Tony asked.

"You fight well in the suit," Steve said, "but out of it you're a liability. I don't think we're ever going to get you up to the level of Clint or Natasha, but you could use some basic hand to hand training."

"I've _had_ hand to hand training. Happy boxes with me. He used to be a boxing champ, did you know that?" Tony said. Steve shook his head.

"Boxing isn't the same as hand to hand, Tony. There are no _rules_ in hand to hand," Steve said. Tony finished divesting himself of the armor, leaning down to put the now compact suitcase next to the wall, out of the way. Stark had a very good physique for a man his age. Hell, he had a good physique for a man of any age. He wasn't a body builder, he had more of a lean build, but his muscling was nothing to scoff at. It wasn't his muscling Steve was admiring, though, as Stark leaned over to put that suitcase by the wall. It had to be said: Stark was an ass, but he also had a mighty fine one.

Steve shook the thought off and looked away before he caused himself an embarrassing situation. This century might be more open to people of his persuasion, but it was still rather inappropriate to overly enjoy the body of your teammate, especially your teammate with a serious girlfriend who isn't exactly fond of you and whom you were not particularly fond of either. Tony stood up and turned around, facing him.

"So, Cap, are you playing Mr. Miyagi to my LaRusso today or are you throwing me straight to the assassins?" Tony asked.

"Um, I'm going to teach you first," Steve said, puzzling out what Stark had said. Eighty percent of the time he felt like he literally didn't understand the other man. Either he was referencing something Steve had never heard of, or he was spitting techno-babble so complex only Bruce knew what he was talking about, though of course sometimes even Bruce's eyes glazed over, uncomprehending.

"Gandalf," Stark explained. "You're playing Gandalf to my…I really don't want to be Frodo in this situation. Besides those came out after you, right? Let's go with Bilbo. Bilbo's better. Bilbo's the shit. I'll be Bilbo."

"Gandalf didn't teach Bilbo to fight," Steve said, stepping onto the blue mats they had set up on the floor for hand-to-hand practice.

"Well now you're being deliberately obtuse," Stark said, rolling his eyes and joining him on the mats. Steve got into a fighting stance.

"Who's Frodo?"

"Oh, so you _haven't_ read those yet, just as I thought—and the films!—Cap I think you're going to like this century more than you th—aagh!" Tony cut off in a muffled grunt as Steve kicked his feet out from under him, and he fell to the floor. Tony glowered up at him. "The _hell_ was that for?" Steve just grinned.

"No rules in hand to hand, Tony," he said.

"I'll show _you_ no rules," Tony grumbled, coming back up, swinging.

By the end of it all, Stark was panting. Cap had shouted 'paralyzed', 'incapacitated', and 'dead' several times through the session, and ended by physically sitting on top of Tony, if only for a moment, before he got up and offered the other man his hand, which he gratefully took. Clint and Natasha stood nearby, waiting for them so they could go to lunch together (and, of course, laughing at Stark stuck on the ground with Steve sitting lightly on his back). Tony got up, Steve heaving him to his feet.

"I'm going to feel _that_ in the morning. Jesus, Rogers, you sure know how to give a guy a pounding," Stark said, wincing in pain and rubbing a spot on his back.

"Stark, if I'd given you a pounding, you'd be feeling it someplace different entirely, and you'd have trouble _walking_ in the morning," Steve said before he'd even realized he'd said it. Stark stared at him. Steve stared blandly back, deciding to stand his ground, fighting off a blush. Clint didn't stop laughing for a full fifteen minutes after, by which point his sides were cramping. Even Natasha had to bite her lip and cover her mouth to keep from cracking up. Tony just stared at Steve in disbelief. Steve clapped him on the shoulder.

"So, shawarma, then?"

_May 25__th__, 1941, 07:45_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Ten Eyck Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

"Yeah, I'm definitely feeling that this morning," Bucky said with an unhappy moan. He flopped on top of the bed, half on top and half beside Steve on the little twin bed that did not hold them both well. With the two of them so close the bed warmed up quickly, accelerated by the muggy morning heat of a Brooklyn spring day. "Can you please decide not to start shit with guys four times your size and twice mine?"

"You don't have to come after me, I can handle myself," Steve said stubbornly.

"Yeah, but, I prefer you in a state of _not_ a bloody pulp," Bucky said. He groaned, touching the spot on his face that was already red and swollen. "Ugh, that guy ruined my gorgeous face. There goes my chances with the dames."

"Good, now get out of my bed, you're like an oven or something," Steve said, giving him a light, playful shove.

"Does my loyalty mean nothing to you?" Bucky asked, mock offended.

"It'd mean a lot more if you didn't wake me up early on a Sunday," Steve said dryly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Bucky grinned and got up from the bed, stretching as he went.

"Well, I figured I'd get up early and do some other things since our afternoon's already full," Bucky said.

"Full? What are we doing this afternoon?" Steve asked, fighting the urge to put a pillow over his head and go back to sleep.

"_We_ are going to Ebbets field. Don't you remember? Dodgers versus the Phillies?" Bucky asked. Suddenly, the thought came back to Steve.

"Oh yeah. But you know what I wanted to do this morning?" Steve asked.

"No, what?" Steve threw a pillow in Bucky's face.

"_Sleep!"_

_September 15__th__, 2012, 12:14_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Some Shawarma Joint, Manhattan_

"I mean, you walked straight into that one, Stark," Clint said. Steve took a big bite of his shawarma. It was, actually, really good food. "Actually you didn't just walk, you set up a whole room of booby traps yourself and then begged Rogers to gently push you inside."

"Rogers is from the _forties_. He's not supposed to be _capable_ of making _gay sex _jokes," Stark said indignantly. Steve snorted and nearly choked on his shawarma. "He's supposed to be all purity rings and 'good clean fun' and apple pie and Protestantism."

"I'm Catholic, actually," Steve corrected once he'd swallowed his bite. "But I do love apple pie. Sounds to me like you've swallowed one too many newsreels, Stark." Stark just grumbled something under his breath, disgruntled.

"So were all of those completely fake?" Clint asked, sounding curious. "Did they shoot them all in Hollywood?" Steve shook his head.

"Not all of them," Steve admitted. "I did a lot of filming in Hollywood just before the USO Tour, but afterwards, after the rescue mission, I mean, they sent a couple of guys with cameras to get a bit of real footage."

"The rescue mission—you mean the one where you saved like four hundred guys single-handed?" Clint asked. Steve felt himself blush. He wished he didn't blush so easily.

"I wasn't single-handed, really. Howard Stark flew me out to the front. He was crazy, taking on that airspace, but it was like it was nothing to him. Meant I didn't have to walk to Poland," Steve said, smiling slightly. "And Peggy Carter was the one who convinced him to do it—convinced me, in the first place, that I could do more than be a dancing monkey on the USO tour. And then, once I'd gotten _into_ the facility, I just had to steal some keys and then I had four hundred guys for back up."

"'I just had to steal some keys'," Clint repeated. "Rogers, you're crazy." Steve smiled slightly.

"You know, that's not the first time I've heard that," he said.

"What made you go?" Natasha asked. It was strange, having everyone so focused on him. Usually during their outings, Steve was essentially silent. He liked to listen to everyone. He liked to hear Bruce and Tony discuss things no one understood while Clint and Natasha bet on how long it was going to be before Stark managed to get Bruce to hulk out (it had not, thankfully, happened yet). He liked to hear Natasha describe the Russian ballet, liked to listen to Clint's stories about espionage escapades gone wrong, liked to hear Bruce rant about the conditions in the so-called third world, liked to listen to Clint and Tony argue about various things from pop culture, none of which he understood any better than his and Bruce's science talk. It was nice. It was comfortable. They had never asked him questions before, but now they all watched him.

"On the rescue mission?" Steve asked. Natasha nodded. "Wish I could say it was selflessness and a sudden realization of my duty in the war, but it wasn't. I was on tour in Italy. The guys—you know, they didn't want some clown in tights acting in some half-rate vaudeville show meant for little kids. They basically booed me off the stage and I can't say I blamed them. Afterwards, Peggy told me not to, in case I did, that they'd just lost most of their men, the men of the 107th." Steve paused for a moment, remembering that day. For him, it hadn't even been a year ago yet. He remembered the rain, remembered the mud, remembered that one guy mooning him, remembered Peggy's bright red lipstick, remembered how she'd challenged him to do more, to be more, remembered the utter terror that gripped him when she said _the 107th_. Steve didn't realize he'd stopped for an inordinate amount of time until Natasha gently prompted him.

"And what then?" she asked.

"My best friend was in the 107th," Steve said. "James Barnes—Bucky. We grew up together. I didn't know if he'd been captured or if he was dead, but I owed it to him to find out. He was always getting me out of scrapes back home when I decided to take on guys three times my size. It was my turn to repay the favor. Four hundred men or four—or one—I would've gone in that day anyway, just to bring him back." The table went quiet as Steve fell silent.

_I've killed the party again_, Steve thought guiltily. He couldn't stand the looks his teammates were giving him. They were all carefully constructed, so as not to reveal too much, but their careful construction revealed everything anyway. He hated this tense, loaded silence. He resolved not to talk much at these outings ever again. He would just be a wet blanket if he did.

"What happened to him?" Stark asked. It must have been written all over his face, Steve figured. He shrugged.

"It was the second world war. He died," Steve said shortly. "That was four months ago." Then Steve shook himself. "No, uh, I guess that was sixty-eight years ago. Sixty-eight years ago, in July."

"But it's four months for you," Natasha said, sounding contemplative.

"Haven't you only been in this century four months?" Bruce asked.

"He died July 18th. My plane went down on the 23rd," Steve explained.

"Well now you're getting your own history wrong in the semantics, Captain," Stark said, sounding pleased to know something, pleased to be more right than even he was about his own life, even if it was just through a technicality. "Your plane didn't _go down_, Dad told me several times as a kid, he was ticked because if they'd managed to get through to him in time they could have saved that plane for research not to mention you. You _forced _it—" Stark cut off suddenly. Steve could see the gears in his head whizzing a mile a minute, could see his eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He could see the same thought click into place for everyone else at the table.

"There were bombs on board," Steve said defensively. "I had no idea how to turn that thing around. It was moving like your _suit_ does, Tony, and it was headed straight for New York. We had no time to figure out how to turn it around, and no time to evacuate the city."

"Of course," Tony said evenly. But Steve could still feel his eyes studying his face, could still feel the intense stares of Natasha and Clint and Bruce.

_Is he mentally stable?_

_ Is he fit to lead?_

Steve couldn't take it. The weight of everyone's stares was unbearable. The silence (the near-silence) was maddening. No more talk of the forties, ever again, he thought. He hated feeling like this—bare, open, exposed. Hated putting himself up for examination. He never wanted to feel like this again. He looked at his watch. 12:32. He had nothing going on, nothing for the entire rest of the day. It was a Saturday, and he didn't have a social life. So, he'd just have to make something up.

"Anyway I've got to get going. I told Mrs. Carmichael I'd help her get a dresser up to her apartment around one. I'll see you guys next Saturday," Steve said. He threw some cash for his lunch on the table and left as the other Avengers said quiet, anxious goodbyes.

It was too much.

_May 25__th__, 1941, 10:33_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Near Ten Eyck Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

_In Transit to Ebbets Field_

"I cannot wait for a ballpark dog," Bucky said wistfully. "How long's it been since we've been out to Ebbets, anyway?"

"Last time was just three weeks ago! Dodgers versus the Cubs," Steve said, laughing.

"Good morning, boys!" called Mrs. O'Malia, one of their many neighbors. Bucky waved.

"Good morning, Mrs. O'Malia!" Steve called back with a smile. He liked Mrs. O'Malia. She'd always had an extra sweet or two on hand for him and Bucky when they were growing up. Her sons, though, were terrors, and it was rumored that her husband and eldest son were two of the last surviving members of the White Hand gang.

"It can't have been just three weeks ago," Bucky disagreed. "It feels like so much longer than that."

"It was just three weeks, Buck," Steve said. "I think you're just getting cabin fever." Bucky grimaced.

"Yeah, I think you're right. You know, I haven't even _seen_ a dame in a month," Bucky said. "You and I need to find some dance partners."

"Well, we're probably not going to find them at Ebbets field," Steve said. Which was probably true. Steve didn't add that _he_ probably wasn't going to find a dance partner anywhere in the near future. Bucky hated it when he talked like that, and he did his best to set Steve up whenever he could.

"You never know," Bucky said. "We could. Fate's a fickle friend."

_September 16__th__, 2012, 11:26_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Sometimes Steve could almost believe that it was still the 1940s. On sleepy mornings before the world awoke, Steve could look out his window and pretend. He would have to blind himself to many of the new skyscrapers off in the distance, sure, had to ignore the styles of the cars rushing past, had to imagine instead the sound of the trolley running by…but he was still in Brooklyn. He was still on the same side of the building he'd lived on. The view was essentially the same, if one could ignore all the changes. He could imagine Bucky sleeping in the next bedroom over, could imagine Bucky barging into Steve's room and demanding they go out to Ebbets. He could almost imagine that nothing had changed, and for a few minutes on those sleepy mornings, the deliberate self-delusion was sweet, sweet relief—until it all disappeared again.

He took up more of this bed than he should have. He was more muscled than he should have been. Outside there were skyscrapers, and different cars, and vastly different fashions, and 'phones' that fit in your pocket with clear screens that responded to touch, phones that played games and kept schedules and did God-knows-what-else. Despite the late heat of mid-September, his apartment was cool from the air conditioning. The hardwood had been changed to carpet. The metal bed frame had been replaced with maple, and all the furniture in fact was new. So that sweet, sweet self-delusion never lasted more than a minute or two.

Steve dragged himself out of bed early on Sundays. He wasn't actually much of a morning person. The behavior was learned; first from Bucky, who slept less than anyone he'd ever met and never seemed the worse for it, and then from the army. So by 11:26am, Steve had already been awake for three hours and twenty-six minutes, time enough for first breakfast, church, and some reading time. He settled on the couch with a book he'd bought on his way home from lunch the other day, _Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring_. He was already halfway through, having read quite a bit the day before. By 11:26, he was just reaching the good part. He held his breath as the Nine Riders advanced on Frodo.

_"'By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair,' said Frodo with a last effort, lifting up his sword, 'you shall have neither the Ring nor me!'"_

The doorbell rang, making Steve jump a little, snapping him suddenly out of the fantasy world. He put a bookmark in the novel and set it on the coffee table before opening the door. To Steve's immense surprise, Tony waltzed right in, followed swiftly by Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Pepper, and even Rhodey.

"Wha—" Steve started, but Tony and his loudmouth cut him off.

"It's Sunday!" Tony said insistently, like this meant something, and Steve should know what it was.

"Yes…" Steve said slowly, uncomprehending.

"It's movie day," Tony said, like Steve was crazy for not knowing this. "We have to catch you up on everything! Oh—_Fellowship_? Fantastic that's one of the films I brought. You know they're making a film of _The Hobbit_—uh, sorry, _There and Back Again_—and it's coming out in a couple of months." Steve just stood there, his hand still on the doorknob, watching as Bruce settled in his armchair, Natasha took a seat on the couch, and Clint rifled through his books. Rhodey was already at the fridge, getting out drinks, and Pepper was—oh, no—

"They're not finished!" Steve yelped as Pepper found his canvases and sketchbooks and peaked at one after the other. Steve knew what she would find—a full oil painting of Bucky, one of Peggy, and one of all the Howling Commandos raising their beers for a drink at Crocker's Folly. There was also one of Brooklyn from out of his old window as Steve remembered it. There were several charcoal drawings of Bucky and Peggy both, one of Howard Stark working in his lab, one nightmarish piece in colored pencil of the Red Skull, and several pieces done in ink of the Avengers. An embarrassing amount of them were of Tony, or of his armor. They were, in fact, finished. Steve just didn't want anyone to _see_ them.

"I didn't know that you're an artist," Pepper said appreciatively. "These pieces are beautiful."

"Ohh, I want to see—" Clint said, rushing over, but Steve stepped in front of him, his whole face hot from embarrassment.

"No, really, they're not done," Steve said. Pleaded, really. To his surprise, Clint backed off, shrugging.

"If you say so," he said, before joining Natasha on the couch.

"I uh, I didn't know you all were coming," Steve said, as if they didn't all know that perfectly well. "I hope there's enough um, seating. And drinks and—are you guys hungry? I didn't—"

"Relax, Capsicle," Tony said. "I've got it covered." Then his mouth curled up with disgust. "That is the most outdated, ridiculous television I've ever seen. Can you even hook up a blu-ray to that dinosaur?"

"A what?"

"Ugh, nevermind. I'm buying you a new television. And better seating. If we're going to make this a regular thing they have to. I don't want to have to sit on those under pain of death let alone for recreation," Tony said. He started fiddling with the TV, though what for, Steve had no idea. Steve only knew that twenty minutes later, _The Fellowship of the Ring _was playing on his television, looking spectacularly real. Steve sat on the edge of the couch the whole time, sandwiched between Tony and Rhodey. Pepper sat with Natasha on the smaller sofa. Clint had claimed the armchair for his own. There weren't enough seats, so Bruce sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them. The film, ended and the credits rolled. Clint and Bruce demanded they watch the next one, so they ordered pizza, took a quick break, and then were back into movie-watching mode.

Of course, movie watching with the Avengers wasn't at all a silent affair. Clint had a tendency to boo and hiss when villains appeared, Bruce and Tony would argue about the possibility of impossible magical objects, Pepper would squeal any time something particularly horrifying happened, and Natasha often described in detail why the fighting tactics used were horribly flawed. Rhodey seemed to be the only sane one, and he would roll his eyes in sympathy at Steve whenever Tony and Bruce talked over something important and they had to rewind so that Steve could hear what was going on.

Whenever Steve asked why they were here, they all just answered the same way. _It's Sunday_. Pepper just gave him a knowing look, and Rhodey rolled his eyes. Late into the night, when they had finally finished the third movie, and Steve's apartment was a mess with snacks and beer and soda strewn everywhere, the Avengers (and Pepper and Rhodey) walked out of Steve's apartment just as they'd walked in—with no explanation. They just said their goodbyes and a 'see you on Saturday' as they all left together. It took Steve a minute to remember that they all lived together. They had all come over from Stark Tower, settled down in his apartment, and then left all again together, a little whirlwind in the generally uneventful new life of Steve Rogers. They had forsaken the bells and whistles of Stark Tower, the comfortable couches, the ample living space, the well-stocked fridges, the giant television screens, and the fancy sound system—all to make their way to Brooklyn and sit in his cramped little place for _hours_ and watch films they'd all seen already.

Steve Rogers didn't really ever cry, but he might have teared up a bit that night.

_December 8__th__, 1941, 10:03 _

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Ten Eyck Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

"Steve. _Steve_. Come on, buddy, where are you going?" Bucky asked, grabbing his elbow as he passed.

"You know where I'm going Bucky," Steve said seriously. "I'm signing up." Bucky sighed.

"Steve, you already tried this once. They wouldn't take you. They _won't_ take you," Bucky said.

"You don't know that," Steve said, shaking his head. "Different recruitment center, different examiner—and things are picking up from here, Bucky. It's war for us now. It's _really_ war. It's a matter of hours now before they make it official. They'll be wanting to take as many men as they can." Steve hoped his words were true. If the military got desperate, they might get desperate enough to take him.

"I _hope_ you're wrong," Bucky said. "If you're not, then _they'll take you_. They'll send you overseas to get _shot _at."

"They'll send me overseas to defend _what's right_," Steve said emphatically, but Bucky just got angry.

"You've been watching too many newsreels, it's not all coming up roses—"

"You think I don't know that—?"

"No I think you've vastly underestimated your chance of _dying_. Which is pretty damn high, Steve. They don't need comic book artists overseas. You're needed _here_—"

"I'm needed here? Doing what, Bucky? Drawing comics about guys punching each other? Drawing comics meant for little kids? How does _that_ help the war effort?"

"Not everything has to be about the war—we're not even _at_ war!"

"We got attacked yesterday you can damn well bet we're at war—"

"So what are you gonna do, go overseas, punch some Japs in the face? Because I'm pretty sure your fist isn't gonna pack much a bite and I'm pretty sure those Japs aren't gonna be armed with water guns!" Bucky snapped. Steve went quiet.

"I'm not the toughest guy out there. I'm not the biggest. But I can do my _duty_. I can be where I'm _needed_. Whether you think I can or not," Steve said. He wrenched his arm away from Bucky and opened up the door.

"Steve," Bucky called softly. Steve paused. "You're not the biggest guy, no. But you are the toughest." Steve turned and looked at him. There was only sincerity on Bucky's face, as he knew there would be.

"Thanks," Steve said, and then he was out the door.

_February 13__th__, 2013, 03:55_

_Location: Toronto, Ontario, Canada_

_(The Remnants of) Toronto Harbor_

"What the hell were you thinking?" the Captain shouted.

"Um, I was thinking that I was going to save all of our asses. Which I did. You're welcome," Iron Man replied.

"You just _sank_ the _harbor_," the Captain said in horrified disbelief. "All of those boats, all of that infrastructure—_gone_. I told you to _wait!_" Tony lifted his faceplate. He was furious underneath, his mouth curled in a snarl.

"Wait for _what_? Wait for all of us to go up in smoke? Look, Captain, I know you're not really up on this whole _technology_ thing, but that guy was cooking a fusion reactor with enough firepower to level anything in a one hundred and fifty mile radius—that's not just Toronto, that's Rochester, Buffalo, London—don't look at me like that, _Canadian_ London—I don't think I have to tell you what the death toll on that would be. So, excuse me, if in sinking the damn thing, I took out some fucking boats!"

"I told you to wait because—"

At that moment thunder crashed, and lightning flashed, striking the earth mere inches from where Steve and Tony stood. It was so close that Steve could smell the singed air as Thor materialized before them. Steve may not consider him a God, but all the same he was impressive.

"I told you to wait, Tony, because I called on _Thor_ to come and _help us_, so that you and he could chuck the thing harmlessly into _space_," Steve snapped.

"Oh, good companions, have I arrived too late?" Thor asked, confused.

"If you'd arrived too late we wouldn't be standing here," Tony said. "I don't think you quite understand the immediacy of the situation, _Captain_. That reaction was out of control—"

"It's been _one minute_, it couldn't wait _one more minute_? You disobeyed a _direct order_, Iron Man—"

"It was a shitty call!" Tony shouted.

"And it's not yours to make! Could it have waited sixty seconds? Tell me it couldn't have waited sixty seconds and you win this round," Steve said. He was the Captain, sure, but Tony was the tech expert. Tony's frown just deepened.

"I estimate…we had about five minutes to do something before it exploded," Tony said.

"So it could have waited sixty seconds."

"It was _unstable_," Tony griped.

"I don't _care!_" Steve said. "I had a plan, which if you'd waited thirty seconds, I would have _told it to you_."

"They're just _boats_. No one _died_."

"That we _know!" _Steve burst out. "What if some guy was having a bad night, decided to sleep out on their yacht instead of at home with their wife? What if someone's been living on their boat for the past year because of the recession? What if someone was getting ready for work? Just because it's _docked_ and it's early in the morning doesn't mean that it's _civilian free!_"

"I scanned for life forms in the area before I sunk it," Tony snapped. "I'm not that fucking reckless—"

"It looked pretty reckless from where I'm standing!"

"They're just _boats!_"

"No, Tony, that's what you don't understand, that's what you're not _seeing_. Those _boats_ aren't just yachts for big wigs, some of those boats are people's _livelihoods_, and if they've got insurance, great, but what if they don't? There's more than one way to take a life," Steve said stonily. "Not to mention what the city's going to have to pay to raise the boats, to raise the harbor, to rebuild and do god-knows-what environmental clean-up from that fusion drowning in the lake. If you'd listened to orders, you and Thor could have chucked the thing into space. I'm pretty sure if you can drown it then it's reacting to something in the atmosphere, right? So the lack of atmosphere would have snuffed it out just fine. No damages, no loss of life."

"Well excuse me for trying to do _our job_ and save the city. I made a bad call, fine—" Tony said, still glowering, but Steve cut him off, furious.

"That's just _it_, Tony! It wasn't your call to make! If you want to be part of this team, you have to learn how to _work with one_," he said. Tony's faceplate snapped back into place.

"You don't think you need me on this team? Fine. I'm out," he said. With that, Iron Man rocketed off into the night, back to New York.

"We are not much of a team," Thor observed. Steve startled. He'd almost forgotten the Asgardian was still there.

"No, not really," Steve said with a heavy sigh. He'd never had to work with such a disparate team before. The Howling Commandos had all been army. They were conditioned to a hierarchy, knew how to operate together, move as one. But Steve had no idea how to command two super spies, an alien, a giant green monster, and a wild, techno genius in a metal suit. He pressed the comm. in his ear. "Widow, Hawkeye, report."

_February 17__th__, 2013, 14:36_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Steve had been waiting for the day that it would happen. He'd been waiting for the day when the Avengers just wouldn't show up at his door for movie day. Over the past few months, they had settled into an easy routine—Saturdays were for sparring from eight until noon, and Sundays were for movies, from two until four or whenever everyone decided to leave. True to his word, Tony had installed a new TV and new sofas in Steve's apartment, which he had come home after work one day to find all set up for him. How in the _hell_ Tony managed to get a bunch of workers in and out of his apartment while he was gone (and that he knew his _schedule_ was interesting, too) Steve would never know. Steve had protested, sure, but Stark refused to take the gifts back.

"Can you honestly tell me that you _liked_ those couches? That you were incredibly attached to that old television?" Tony had asked.

"Well, no, but—"

"Then they're staying. It's a gift, Cap, just take it for what it is."

And so Steve had. The Avengers all seemed glad for the updates, and Steve, admittedly, was too. So over these past few months, they had settled into a comfortable routine. Not everyone always showed up. Sometimes Natasha and/or Clint was missing, gone on some S.H.I.E.L.D. mission unrelated to the Avengers Initiative. Sometimes Bruce got caught up in his work in the lab at Stark Tower. Pepper and Rhodey drifted in and out, though Steve had seen less and less of Pepper as time passed—Steve thought the last time he saw her was a month ago, at least. Tony was the only constant, really. Steve didn't know how he made time for it, really, but Tony was always there, ready with about fifty different movie suggestions at the least.

Today though, it was 2:36 PM and no one had shown up. Natasha and Clint might both be on a mission, Bruce might be caught up with his work, Pepper hadn't been around much lately anyway, and Rhodey was often busy with something. Tony, of course, was still angry with him. It wasn't surprising that this had happened. But Steve still felt a little twinge of sadness as he opened up one of the packs of soda he'd bought for the afternoon and looked around his empty apartment.

Alone at last?

More like alone again.

_February 24__th__, 2013, 14:54_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Tony hadn't come to practice on Saturday. Steve, despite their argument the previous week, had been surprised. He figured they had both blown up, but Tony would be back once they'd both cooled off, like they always did. He figured wrong. This wasn't, by far, the first time he and Tony had argued on the battlefield. Most days, it felt like it was every other mission. Steve hadn't thought this one was any different. Natasha and Clint were off on a secret mission, so they hadn't been at training either. Bruce rarely ever came, considering the Hulk couldn't exactly be trained to fight, and training _Bruce_ to fight was pointless unless a super villain concocted a Hulk suppressant, which seemed unlikely considering not even Bruce himself had managed to do that. Thor was back on Asgard. So Steve had trained in the Triskelion gym alone until he could no longer take the not-so-subtle glances of other SHIELD agents. When all the Avengers were there, they cleared out, but with just Steve, they gawked. They were the only ones who knew who he was, and he was suddenly intensely grateful that Steve Rogers was not attached to the Captain America persona in public knowledge.

Steve had spent that Saturday alone, and now it was Sunday again, and nearly an hour past three. No one was there. He wondered if movie nights were on a temporary hold, or if they were done all together, gone as quickly as they had come. He wondered if they'd just been concerned that he was suicidal and now, thoroughly convinced he was not, they collectively decided that he wasn't worth the time. And he _wasn't_, Steve figured. He'd wondered why they'd bothered in the first place. They had to come all the way across town, to a cramped little apartment, just to watch old films and reruns. It wasn't worth it. Steve wasn't worth it.

_February 25__th__, 2013, 18:37_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA  
Stark Tower – Penthouse, Manhattan_

"Oh, hi, Pepper," Steve said with a smile as the elevator doors opened and he stepped out. Pepper was going in as he was leaving. Steve's smile faded when he saw her expression, the hard line of her mouth, the tension in her brow, the fury in her eyes.

"I can't deal with him right now. Good luck," she said, jabbing the button for the ground floor. The elevator doors closed. This did not bode well. Pepper had come from their bedroom, so Steve, taking a deep breath and steeling himself, walked over to the door. It was slightly ajar.

"Tony?" Steve called out. He pushed the door open just slightly. It caught on something as it swung open, and Steve could see why. There were bits and pieces of armor everywhere, all over the floor. Tony crouched on the bed, sitting on his heels. He had one hand tangled in greasy hair, and the other, encased in a gauntlet from the suit, he stared at.

"Tony?" Steve repeated.

"What are you doing here, Steve?" Tony asked. It didn't sound like a particularly friendly question. His voice was gruff, almost raw. His eyes looked red, and his usually meticulously trimmed goatee was stubbly in the wrong places. He didn't look up at Steve's arrival.

"You weren't at practice on Saturday," Steve said cautiously.

"You think you can do just fine without me—better, even, so why should I bother, Rogers?" Tony asked. There was no particular venom in his tone, merely contempt. He fiddled with a screwdriver, adjusting something on the gauntlet. Steve frowned.

"Tony, that wasn't what I said _at all_—"

"And you know what? I have better things to do with my time anyway," Tony continued, talking over him. "You people seem to forget I have a _multi-billion dollar company_ that I have to run. This whole _Avengers_ gig was on my own time because frankly SHIELD can't afford me. I have tech to develop. I have a girlfriend to make time with. I have parties and shindigs and any number of press conferences to go to so you know what? If you think you don't need me, then that's just fine. I'm out."

"Tony, that's _not what I said_!" Steve said, exasperated. The other man just gave him a hard look. Obviously, that had been what Tony had taken away from their argument. "I was angry that you defied orders, but I never said we were better off without you!"

"I don't remember inviting you over," Tony said. He lifted his arm, finagled with the screwdriver, and the repulsor went off. Steve was glad that the weapon was noisy, otherwise he wouldn't have jumped out of the way in time. Steve just stared at Tony, wide-eyed, momentarily stunned. Tony looked back at him, his face unreadable. He shrugged. "Sorry. Testing. So unpredictable."

"This isn't the first time I've been shot at for the sake of 'testing'. I know when to take a hint," Steve said, shaking off his surprise. He looked Tony up and down. He was a mess. "Come back when you're ready. We'll be waiting for you. Take care of yourself, Tony." Steve turned on his heel and left. There was a niggling feeling in his gut. Something was off. Something was wrong.

Of course, it didn't take a genius to see that. Tony wasn't coming to practice, he'd shot at Steve, his room was in shambles, and he looked like he hadn't showered in days. But Steve knew that this couldn't just be about their argument. Something else was very wrong. Steve was worried.

_February 27__th__, 2013, 13:08_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_90__th__ Precinct NYPD, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

"You know Rogers, you've been working here part time for what, eight, nine months now, and I don't think any one of us knows a damn thing about you," said Ty. Steve, who had been packing away his sketchpad in his duffel bag, looked up. Ty Watson was about his height, about his age, and had a decent build. He had to, as a police officer. His black hair was cropped close in a buzz cut. Ty was usually around doing paperwork ("Mounds and mounds and mounds of paperwork. I'm _drowning_ in it, Rogers," Ty had complained to him once, and his complaints ever after usually echoed that one) during Steve's shifts, though Steve got the impression that he did see a lot of action on patrol. Ty stared at him with expectant green eyes.

"I like baseball. I can sketch ok. I hate sushi. What more is there to know?" Steve said with a slight smile. Ty rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe _literally anything else_," he said. "You're like an enigma, Rogers." Steve laughed.

"That's a new one. Don't think I've ever gotten that particular label before. Why don't you just tell me what you want to know?" Steve asked. Ty grinned.

"Well, I would, see, but I've got a whole heap of paperwork to do and my break's almost over. Why don't we talk about you over drinks later?" Ty said, sounding a bit coy. Steve regarded him carefully. He wasn't sure what he was begin asked, really.

"Any of the other guys coming?" he asked. Ty shook his head.

"Just you and me. How about it?" he said.

"Is this…are you…" Steve couldn't get the words out, but Ty's grin just got bigger.

"'Is this like a date? Are you asking me out?' Yes and yes," he said. Then suddenly his smile vanished. "Unless you're taken, of course. I just didn't see a ring and you seem like the marrying kind. So I guess this is a huge gamble, but I'm willing to risk it. Or I was a minute ago. Now I'm a little worried."

"How do you know if I'm even into guys?" Steve asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. Ty just smirked.

"So I just imagined you ogling my ass then?" he asked. Steve's face turned bright red.

"I—"

"Say yes to drinks and I promise you can ogle my ass as much as you want," Ty said, saving him the embarrassment. Steve just chuckled and shook his head.

"Fine, you're on," he said, picking up the duffel bag and adjusting the strap on his shoulder.

"Seven at McCauley's work for you?" Ty asked. Steve nodded.

"Sure," he said, and then he left the precinct, feeling oddly light.

_February 14__th__, 1942_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_McCauley's Irish Pub, Brooklyn_

"Ok, what about those two over there?" Bucky asked, nodding to a pair of girls having a quiet drink at another table. One had long red hair, and the other was a brunette. Steve knew which Bucky would be after.

"You know I'll come with you no matter who you choose," Steve said. He took a gulp of his beer as Bucky shook his head.

"No but who do _you_ like?" he asked. Steve shrugged.

"It doesn't really matter."

"Aw, come on, Steve. You don't know that. You just have to let some nice girl get to _know_ you, that's all—"

"Because girls are always so interested in getting to know me better," Steve said. He wasn't bitter so much as resigned. Dames took one look at him and either outright made a face or gave him a strained, polite smile.

"Well maybe if you were a bit _smoother_ is all," Bucky said, getting up. "And being smooth takes _practice_. Come on, let's go introduce ourselves." They walked over. Bucky was all smiles and clever lines, romancing the red head with an easy charm that Steve simply didn't have. Steve, for his part, introduced himself politely to the brunette.

Ah, polite, strained smile it was.

_February 27__th__, 2013_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_McCauley's Irish Pub, Brooklyn_

Steve saw ghosts just about everywhere he went. In this part of Brooklyn especially, he saw them everywhere. He saw Mrs. O'Malia carrying groceries, saw little Johnny Brandt throwing a baseball to William Mason with his little sister, Emma Brandt, begging to be thrown the ball just once as they played monkey in the middle. But this pub in particular held many ghosts for Steve. He saw Bucky, flirting with a blonde, saw Thomas White serving behind the bar. He heard Maggie Mayhew turn down his invitation to go dancing, heard Dick Waldorf shouting bile at Michael and Hannah Lerner for being Jews, felt the sting of the shiner he'd earned for telling him to shut up and sit down. This town was filled with ghosts Steve could not escape. Sometimes he wondered if he should leave, but whenever he contemplated it he felt more hollow and empty than he ever had before.

Sometimes Steve Rogers thought he was a collection of fragments, nothing more. He was bits and pieces of memory, of remembered quotes and scraps of ideology. He was the Howling Commando's tavern songs, he was Peggy's laugh and Bucky's grin. He was Brooklyn, he was 1944, he was a soldier, he was a Captain. But his scraps no longer line up with the world. He was a photo album, a museum piece, a history book. He did not belong. His home was gone, so why was he still here?

It was strange, to sit in the pub he remembered. All of the chairs and tables had been replaced, as had the flooring and the wallpaper, but the configuration was still the same, and the bar itself was undoubtedly the original. Photos lined the walls, a monument to the history of McCauley's (est. 1881). There were sepia photos of its opening, black and white photos of WWI and WWII soldiers in drinking in uniform. Steve looked hard at one of them, surprised to find that he remembered that day. He glimpsed himself and Bucky off in the background, moments before things got ugly. Steve hadn't even realized that they'd been n the background of that photo. He found it oddly comforting to find it, to know that this pub remembered him just as he remembered it. He was acknowledged, remembered back. It was a feeling of reciprocity Steve hadn't felt in months.

"July 16, 1942," said a smooth voice behind him. Steve turned to find Ty nodding at the picture. "Johnny—he's the bartender here—told me a while back that just after this photo was taken there was some huge brawl."

"I know," Steve said, almost automatically, then had to backtrack at Ty's curious expression. "I'm uh, a bit of a local history buff."

"Likes baseball, good at sketching, hates sushi, and knows oddly specific historical facts about Brooklyn," Ty said with a grin. "Glad I can add it to the list, but I can't say that you're any less of an enigma. Why the local history?" Ty steered him to the bar where they picked up a couple of pints before finding a quiet table and taking a seat.

"I've just got a thing for the 20s, 30s, and 40s," Steve said honestly.

"Oh, prohibition, depression, and the Second World War. An interesting period for sure. Why Brooklyn?" Ty asked.

"It's home," Steve replied.

"So you grew up here."

"Yes, did you?" Steve asked. Ty shook his head, and Steve felt relieved. He didn't know anything about Brooklyn in the 80s, 90s, or early 2000s.

"I grew up in Queens," Ty said. "I moved out here when I got assigned this precinct, but I still feel like a Queens boy, you know? My parents still live there. Do yours?" Ty then gave him a playfully suspicious glance. "You're not still living in your parents' basement, are you? 'Cause you know what they say about those weirdos, and I'd rather not find myself at the bottom of the Hudson one of these days. Unless it's from fighting the Mafia. Then it'd be cool, but 'I was murdered by a psychopath who lives with his mother' doesn't have nearly as awesome a ring to it as an epitaph." Steve smiled.

"No, no, I don't live with my parents. They died when I was young," he said. Ty's face crumpled, and Steve cursed himself for being depressing again.

"Oh, man, I'm sorry," he said. Steve waved his hand.

"It was a long time ago, don't worry about it," he said. A _really_ long time ago.

"So you…grew up in foster care, then?" Ty asked tentatively. Steve had no idea if he would have. He'd spent his time from twelve to eighteen in an orphanage, where he'd met Bucky. Did they still have orphanages? Steve had no idea.

"We don't need to talk about it; that's all in the past," Steve said, trying to divert the conversation tactfully. "I'd be more interested to know about why you decided to become a police officer." Thankfully, Ty took the cue, and he launched into a moving story about his older brother who went into the army because he wanted to protect people and died while evacuating a school in Afghanistan.

"By the time I was old enough to join up, I wasn't sure that I believed in the cause anymore. But I still wanted to follow my brother's legacy. I wanted to protect people, wanted to do good, wanted to help my community. So I signed up for the police academy," he finished. Their pints were half-empty by that point. "Now _I _have another question for _you_, Mr. Enigma: Why does a guy with a body like that work as a sketch artist? Or perhaps my question should be, how does a sketch artist obtain a body like that?" Steve did not miss that Ty was openly, appreciatively leering. Steve didn't mind, and he was grateful that for this question, at least, he had a prepared answer.

"I was in the army," he said. SHIELD had given him a whole false background—enlisted at eighteen, promoted by twenty, spent six more years serving before getting honorably discharged for a previously undetected heart murmur. Rhodey had given him insight into conditions in Afghanistan to make his story plausible, and SHIELD had given him an entire imaginary troop with missions and accomplishments—all of which would be debunked by anyone who had ever actually been _in _Afghanistan, but, on paper at least, he was still Captain Steven G. Rogers. Steve thought it was a rather lot of military history to be given, especially since he only _actually_ served for a single year. But he supposed it simplified his background.

"Oh yeah? How long?" Ty asked.

"Eight years," Steve replied. "Captain of the first battalion of the one-oh-seventh." Of course, the 107th was no longer operational, but that made it perfect for SHIELD to give to him as a symbolic gesture.

"Wow, eight—? Wow. Why'd you leave?"

"Honorable discharge. They found a heart murmur no one had noticed before. After that I just ended up back home," Steve said with a shrug. "I'd always been good at art, so, here we are."

"So I guess now I have to call you 'Captain' Enigma, huh?" Ty asked, that playful grin having returned to his face. Steve just downed the last of his pint and chuckled.

"I'm still an enigma? How do you know there's anything more to me? I could just be extremely boring," Steve said.

"Nah. And hey, if you _are_, just keep playing it off all mysteriously anyway. It'll work wonders for you," Ty advised, draining his own pint. "So. What do you say to a second round?"

"I say we get one," Steve replied. Ty's eyes lit up, and so Steve grabbed both of their pints and headed over to the bar for a refill. Ty was nice. This was nice. It was, more importantly, a moment that was alive. He would have to make new memories, and, really, Ty wouldn't be a bad place to start.


	2. Chapter 2

_July 16__th__, 1942, 22:32_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_McCauley's Irish Pub, Brooklyn_

It was really very obvious now, Steve thought, that he wasn't in the armed forces. Young men in their uniforms, on leave or not yet shipped out, drank all around the pub. In fact, Steve, Bucky, and the bar tender, Tom, were the only young men not in uniform.

"Can I get a bunch of the boys over here? Taking a picture for the _Gazette_!" called out a pretty young dame with a camera. All the guys in uniform seemed happy to oblige, all crowding around a single table with their drinks as the bulb flashed.

"The lady said she wanted the boys up there," slurred a beefy guy Steve and Bucky's age as he approached their table.

"So she did. Guess you should get on up there," Bucky replied evenly.

"And why aren't _you_ goin' up there? Oh, right—s'cause you ain't boys. You're nothing but a pair of yellow-bellied cowards, right 4F bastards!" the guy hollered the last.

"We're not looking for trouble, pal," Steve said, placating, but the drunken soldier wasn't having any of it.

"No, I bet you ain't. That's why you're staying out of the war, innit? Thought of fighting makes you piss your pants," the guy growled. The crowd of men had moved away from the picture, all of them gathering around.

"Max, ease up," one of them said.

"Oh, so you're in love with the 4F bastards now?" challenged another.

"David's right, Max, you should back off—"

"Won't fight—"

"—bring the fight to them!"

That was all the encouragement Max needed to flip over Bucky and Steve's table. Beer spilled all over them both, and glass shattered, scattering everywhere as the pints hit the floor. Steve got hit in the face by someone on Max's side while Bucky tussled with the big guy himself. Steve punched the gut of the guy who'd clocked him, but the guy just laughed and decked him again. Steve's world spun. The first guy who had spoken up threw a punch at the guy who'd hit Steve. The whole pub was a mess of shouting, punching, and screaming as the girls ran out the door. Steve could hear more glasses shattering—what had started with a brawl ended with looting and general pandemonium until the cops showed up, at which point everyone scattered, including Steve and Bucky. Bucky wasn't particularly keen on taking the blame for the entire brawl, and neither was Steve for that matter. They walked back to Ten Eyck in loaded silence.

"I think I'll try again tomorrow," Steve said when they reached their apartment. Bucky didn't have to ask for what.

"Don't listen to those morons, Steve," Bucky said. He sounded exhausted.

"But they're _right_," Steve said miserably. "I'm nothing but a 4F bastard."

"Well then, hell, Steve, if you think you're just a 4F bastard, then I really don't want to know what you think that makes me," Bucky said angrily. He went into his own room and slammed the door behind him.

_March 5__th__, 2013, 19:05_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Stark Tower – Penthouse, Manhattan_

Clint and Natasha, having returned from their super secret spy mission, attended both training and movie night that week, which cheered Steve and made him feel like things had mostly gone back to normal. It surprised him to realize that there was a new normal for him. Even Bruce had shown up for movie night, apologizing for his recent absence. He hadn't realized Clint and Natasha were out of town, and he certainly didn't know that Tony was absent as well. He'd been caught up in a project. Tony, for his part, had not returned either to training or movie night, only increasing Steve's anxiety about the situation. So Steve ended up, yet again, riding the elevator to Stark Tower as Tony refused to take his calls or answer his texts. The elevator doors opened to an explosive argument.

"No, Tony, it's not _just_ about that—God, you really never listen, do you? It's _everything_. It's everything."

"Pepper, how do I fix this if it's everything? How the hell do I fix some nebulous concept of _everything_?"

"Well, you're such a genius I'm sure you can figure it out," Pepper snapped. She looked at her watch. "And now I'm going to be late for the gala." She headed towards the elevator just as Steve gingerly stepped into the penthouse. Pepper was so furious she didn't even acknowledge his presence as she blew past. Tony stood at the bar, poured himself a drink.

"I thought I told you and your pals at SHIELD that you can't afford me," Tony said stonily.

"I'm worried about you, Tony," Steve said honestly. "I'm really worried. Is—is everything ok? With you and Pepper, I mean." Tony just stared at him.

"Did it _fucking sound like it_?" he asked. Steve winced internally. Ok, probably not the most intelligent question he'd ever asked.

"No," he answered. "Did you—uh—want to talk about it?"

"Didn't we just have a discussion about how you were not invited?" Tony asked.

"You can push me out if you want, Tony, but I think you should talk to someone," Steve said firmly.

"Are you telling me I need a shrink?"

"What? No—"

"Get out Rogers," Tony said. "Just go." Steve stared at him helplessly for a second. He watched him down a glass of bourbon and pour another. Tony looked up. "Why are you still here? Do I have to call security, Rogers?" Steve sighed, shook his head, and left. He pulled out his mobile and sent a text to Clint—his first to the archer, actually.

**Worried about Tony. Check on him later for me? He's drinking alone.**

Seconds later, he got a text in return.

CLINT

**Sure thing, Cap. Thanks for telling me.**

Steve felt a little better as he got on the subway. He wasn't the only one looking out for Tony. But he wished he could do more. And he wished he had someone to talk to about it, someone who wouldn't be carefully monitoring his psychological state and reporting back to Fury about it. Then a thought struck him, and he pulled out his cell again. He dialed.

"Hello?" Ty's voice answered.

"Hey, Ty—you up for another round tonight?"

_March 9__th__, 2013, 09:32_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Triskelion – Gym, Manhattan_

"So, what are we watching tomorrow?" Clint asked. "_Breakfast Club_? _Sixteen Candles_? I mean, we've made it to the eighties, we can't leave out the classic teen movies. Oh! I know! _Back to the Future_! We could do the whole trilogy!"

"I actually wanted to talk to you guys about tomorrow. I, uh, I kind of have a date," Steve said apologetically. "It was the only time this week we could make plans."

"Well, why don't you just bring her? It's not like movie day will take all night after all," Clint said.

"You guys…you wouldn't mind?" Steve asked. Clint slapped him on the back.

"'Course we wouldn't mind, you dog. We'd love to meet her, right Nat? What's her name?" Clint asked. Steve smiled.

"His name is Ty," he said.

"His name is—what—oh—_oh_," Clint struggled for a moment. Natasha laughed at him, but a second later he joined in her laughter. "That joke makes a lot more sense now, oh, _man_!" Steve just rolled his eyes.

"Straight guys can—oh, never mind, doesn't matter."

"Tell Ty we'd like to meet him, if he's up for _Back to the Future_," Natasha said. Steve smiled at her.

"Yes ma'am."

_March 10__th__, 2013, 14:13_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

"How have you _not_ seen _Back to the Future_?" Ty asked as Clint fiddled with the Blu-Ray player (it was like a DVD, Steve discovered, which was a device that stored a movie).

"Steve grew up Amish," Clint said, deadpan. Ty laughed.

"Don't joke, I'll believe you. Sometimes I think this guy's an alien. I told him to look something up on Wikipedia the other day and he said, 'Is that…like…an encyclopedia?' I don't know how he gets through the day sometimes," he said. Steve casually put an arm around Ty.

"So I've still got the enigma thing going for me, huh?" Steve asked.

"Oh, definitely," Ty said. Natasha returned from the kitchen and tossed them a bag of microwave popcorn before gracefully settling on the couch. Clint joined her a second later as the Blu-Ray booted up. Clint put an arm around Natasha. Natasha raised an eyebrow. Clint gave her a puppy-dog expression. Natasha rolled her eyes, but the arm stayed where it was.

It struck Steve that this was the first _successful_ double date he'd even been on. Well, maybe Clint and Natasha weren't on a date. Steve wasn't sure. He never knew what was going on between those two, and it felt far too personal to ask. But he decided he'd count this as a double date. He could be Steve Rogers, born in 1986, sketch artist, ex-military from Brooklyn with a boyfriend on the force. He could be Steve Rogers, watching movies with his friends. He could be Steve almost-Amish Rogers, the friend weirdly blind to pop culture and a little allergic to certain modern values. Ty leaned into his embrace, and for a few hours, Steve forgot the world, forgot his life, and everything was perfect.

_March 16__th__, 2013 22:47_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Steve brushed back a lock of Ty's dark hair that fell into his eyes. The other man just smiled back at him, lighting up those green eyes. Steve was beginning to live for that expression. Ty propped his head up with one elbow on the bed, forsaking the pillow.

"Never did make it to that Chinese place," he said. Steve chuckled.

"I know! Damn shame, the way you've been talking it up all week," he said. "I was looking forward to those egg rolls." Ty lightly traced the length of Steve's arm with his fingertips, watching them as he went.

"Any regrets?" he asked softly, not looking at Steve.

"As amazing as you claimed those egg rolls to be, I don't think they could hold a candle to tonight, Ty," Steve said with a grin. The light returned to Ty's eyes, the happiness and certainty filling his expression once again. Steve raised himself a bit off the bed to capture Ty's lips with his in a kiss that was passionately reciprocated—until Ty pulled just centimeters away a few seconds later.

"You know," Ty said quite seriously, "we could always order take out."

"I would say all I need is you but honestly I'm starving," Steve admitted. Ty laughed and shoved him away. Steve stretched and got up off the bed. "You have the number?"

"No," Ty said, reaching for Steve's laptop on the bedside table, "but there is this magical thing called _the internet_." Steve got up and crossed the room, grabbing his phone.

"Oh yeah," Steve said, "Forgot about that." Ty laughed at his facetiousness. Steve hadn't been facetious. But that was ok. They ordered Chinese and spent the next half hour in bed, just talking about nothing in particular. When the doorbell rang, Steve threw on some sweats and a t-shirt as fast as he could and grabbed his wallet.

"Make sure they brought the egg rolls!" Ty called after him as Steve made his way to the front door. He undid the latch and opened the door.

"Hello—Tony?" Steve was shocked to find Tony—so much so that for half a second he wondered when and why Tony had gotten a job at a twenty-four-hour Chinese restaurant as a delivery boy. Then, of course, he came to his senses. Tony was a mess, more of one than Steve had seen him as nearly two weeks ago. Tony just sort of stumbled inside. Steve could smell the alcohol on him.

"Is it Sunday yet?" Tony asked. Steve was amazed that he was capable of speaking so clearly.

"No, Sunday is tomorrow—Tony, what are you doing here? Is everything ok?" It was another stupid question but Steve had no idea how else to ask it.

"Pepper and I called it quits. Well, mostly Pepper," Tony said. "But I called it quits too, a little bit. Like, 12%." Then he started laughing. Or crying. Or both. Steve wasn't sure, and he felt himself panicking a little. He had no idea what to do in a situation like this. Bucky had never gotten so broken up about any of the dames he'd courted—but of course, none of them had been half so serious as Tony and Pepper.

"Hey do you need help carrying any of the—oh. That's not Chinese take out," Ty said, coming out into the hall in a borrowed pair of sweats. Tony squinted his eyes at him.

"That's not Clint. Or Bruce," Tony said decidedly.

"No, this is Ty—why would Clint be here?" Steve asked, bewildered.

" I didn't know you had friends," Tony said bluntly. He stumbled forward a bit, and Steve helped him to the couch.

"Thanks," Steve said sarcastically.

"You know what I meant."

"I'll just—" Ty gestured vaguely to the kitchen. He mouthed to Steve, "_Tony Stark?"_ Steve just shrugged helplessly. He'd have to explain later—and how he was going to do _that_ he wasn't sure yet—but for now Tony was his main concern.

"Tony, do you want to start from the beginning?" Steve asked gently. Tony just laughed.

"Oh, sure. _I was born_. I think that sums up all of my problems pretty nicely," he said. "Are you sure it's not Sunday?"

"I'm a hundred percent positive it isn't Sunday," Steve said. Ty returned from the kitchen with a tall glass of water, which he set on the coffee table in front of Tony.

"You should really drink that," Ty advised. The doorbell rang again. "You like Chinese?"

"I don't remember," Tony said.

"My wallet's on the—"

"I've got it, Steve," Ty said. He left to get the door.

"Clint and Natasha weren't at the Tower," Tony said.

"They had a mission this week. I'm sure they told you," Steve said. Tony waved him off.

"I'm sure they did. Bruce…dunno where he went either. Thought it might be Sunday," Tony said.

"Oh, you thought they'd be here," Steve said, realizing. "Sorry to disappoint. It's just me."

"You'll do," Tony said. "Won't even remember this tomorrow."

"Probably not," Steve agreed. He grabbed the glass of water and handed it to Tony, who took a long gulp before setting it back down.

"You know what the worst part is? I knew it was coming for weeks. And I didn't stop it. I wasn't even sure I _wanted_ to stop it," Tony said. The front door shut, and Ty returned, setting the bag of Chinese on the table. Steve was grateful they'd ordered enough for a small army. Ty had laughed at him for it, but Steve needed the energy with his metabolism. Now they certainly had enough to feed Tony, too.

"Ok, you've got to like chicken fried rice, right?" Ty asked, getting out all the cartons and lining them up on the coffee table. "Everybody likes chicken fried rice." Ty picked up a carton, some chopsticks, and handed them to Tony, who took them, looking more than a bit out of sorts.

"Who _are_ you?" Tony asked.

"Tony, this is Ty. Ty, Tony," Steve said as Ty handed him a carton of mushu pork and an egg roll.

"You said that but _who is he_?" Tony asked.

"Ty's a friend from the station," Steve said. At Tony's blank look, he added, "The police station. Where I work. As a sketch artist."

"You work?" Steve rolled his eyes. He knew Ty was watching them both curiously, but he was glad the other man had the sense to stay quiet.

"Yes, I work. You knew that. I'm pretty sure you know my work schedule, even." _Unless Pepper did_.

"But what's he doing here at—" Tony, at that moment, appeared to have an epiphany. He glanced at Ty—shirtless Ty, wearing Steve's sweatpants, and then at Steve, whose hair was still mussed and lips still a bit puffy. "You're _gay_?"

"I believe the term is 'bisexual'," Steve said, deadpan. "Although current trends tend to lean away from labels." Ty nearly choked on his egg drop soup.

"I did not see that one coming. You've blindsided me, Rogers. No one ever blindsides me," Tony said, sounding offended. He put down the carton of chicken fried rice. "I'm sorry to have interrupted your slumber party." He got up on unsteady legs, ready to leave. Steve shot Ty a panicked look, and Ty just nodded his ascent. Steve just tugged on Tony's arm gently and he fell back onto the couch.

"Sit. Eat. There's plenty of take out to go around," Steve insisted.

"We can always order more egg rolls," Ty added.

"If you're sure…" Tony said, picking up the chicken fried rice again. Ty turned on the television and found Star Wars (Steve couldn't tell which one) playing. He was an incredible gentleman and politely pretended to be absorbed in the movie he had undoubtedly seen a hundred times over.

"Did you want to talk, Tony?" Steve asked softly, his words almost drowned out by the _pew pew pew_ of blasters on the screen. Tony shrugged.

"Nothing to talk about. She dumped me. I let it happen. And there's nothing I can do about it," he said. He stared at the television screen, but his eyes were glazed. He wasn't watching. He was very far away. "I think, you know, I think it's better this way." Steve regarded him for a moment then gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"If you think it's best," Steve said, "then I'm sure it is." Tony laughed. Tony laughed so hard and for so long that Ty glanced over, breaking his feigned disinterest, for a moment.

"Steve," Tony finally said seriously, taking gulps of air down after his laughing fit, "since when have you ever agreed with me on anything I did 'for the best'?" Steve didn't even hesitate.

"The nuke. That time in Oregon. Turkey. Brazil. Wisconsin," he counted off. "There's plenty we disagree on, Tony. But even when we disagree—and don't throw this back in my face some day, but—even when we disagree, it doesn't automatically mean I'm right." Tony gave him a long, questioning glance, but Steve held his ground. Tony returned to eating the chicken fried rice. They ate in silence, watching Star Wars, until the movie (_Return of the Jedi_, as it turned out) finished and the channel advertised that next up would be _Phantom Menace_, at which point Tony unexpectedly lunged for the remote control, snatching it off a very surprised Ty's lap, and switched channels.

"No! We agreed. Just the original trilogy for Steve. There's a wonderful opportunity to not _ruin it all_ for him, let him live in ignorant bliss, and that's what we decided on," Tony said emphatically.

"There's more? I haven't seen the rest? _Tony_, come on—" Steve started but Tony shook his head.

"No, Steve, you don't understand. _You don't understand_. You don't want to see it. What has been seen can never be unseen. Just let it be, Steve, and live your life in happiness," Tony said.

"I think you're being a little overdramatic—"

"_No_. You would understand if you knew. But you don't _want_ to understand. Just trust me on this," Tony said.

"Ok, maybe you had more to drink than I thought," Steve said, rolling his eyes.

"I'm practically sober at this point."

"Really."

"My partially drunk is better than my stone cold sober any day, I promise you that," Tony said.

"Well, I don't believe that," Steve said. He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. "It's getting pretty late now. I think we should head to bed. Tony, I've got a spare room. You're crashing here."

"Nah, I can make it back to Stark Tower," Tony said.

"No, you're staying here. Whine about inferior sheets and a horrible mattress and terrible décor all you want, but I'm not letting you leave like this," Steve said firmly. "Spare room's over there. There should be soap and spare towels and a toothbrush in the bathroom if you want to clean yourself up a bit."

"Is that a hint?" Tony asked.

"Well you sure don't smell like daisies," Steve said, smirking. Tony huffed, and then he got up and went into the spare bedroom. Steve eyed Ty warily. Ty just leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees.

"So, how exactly does an NYPD sketch artist in Brooklyn meet and befriend Tony Stark?" Ty asked. Steve rubbed the back of his neck.

"It's kind of a long story," he said. Steve didn't want to lie. He hated lying. But his identity was a secret. He couldn't let it get out. He wasn't even certain he was _allowed_ to release that information, or if he'd have all of SHIELD and the government down his throat if he tried.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere until morning," Ty said mildly.

"It's—" Steve thought rapidly, spinning a tale as he spoke, "it's, well, I was in the military. In Afghanistan. How much do you know about Tony Stark?"

"Enough to know he got captured there for a few months a couple of years back. Go on," Ty said.

"Right. Well, I was in the group that was with him when he got nabbed. Didn't get to know him too well, but he was laughing and joking with all the guys just before. And then I was with the group that went to find him. That was an all volunteer mission. Nobody really thought we'd bring him back but Rhodey," Steve lied so convincingly he frightened himself. He could imagine the whole scenario. For a moment, he was that Steve, the born-in-1986 Steve. He was laughing with the other soldiers while Tony let out jokes like most people let out carbon dioxide. He could imagine the attack, he could imagine Rhodey volunteering to go and find him, he could imagine the General telling Rhodey he was crazy, he could imagine stepping up himself and volunteering to go with him, he could imagine finding Tony, battered and half-dead in the desert, he could imagine the relief. It wasn't that hard, after all. The same thing had happened with Bucky.

"And then what?" Ty asked curiously.

"And then…Tony was asking questions about all of us who'd come with Rhodey. Basic stuff, you know? Who we were, what we did for a living, what we liked to do. I mentioned I drew, did some art before I joined up. So Tony invited me to this art gala—and, I don't know, I got to talking to Pepper, that's Tony's girlfriend—or, was, I guess—and we got on really well. And eventually Tony came over and got to talking to the both of us, and, I don't know, how does any friendship start? With a joke and a laugh and a mutual grin? We just sort of fell into it," Steve said. Lies, lies, lies, all lies. It frightened Steve how well he lied. How much he wished his lie was truth frightened him more.

"Well," Ty said, "I guess that's another thing to add to the list. Hates sushi, knows oddly specific historical facts Brooklyn, makes friends with multi-billionaire industrialists. Can't say you've lost the enigma status yet, Captain." Steve just walked over to Ty and captured his lips with his own.

"Really?" he said. He took Ty's hand and ran it down the plane of his chest over his shirt. "Because I'm pretty sure you've seen all there is to see." Ty just grinned and they made their way back to Steve's bedroom.

Lies, lies, lies.

_March 17__th__, 2013, 12:00_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Steve was waiting, sketching on the couch, when Tony finally emerged from the guest bedroom. Being Tony Stark, he strutted out with full confidence, obviously having showered and somehow magically making his suit from the night before look presentable.

"Well, thanks for the bed for the night—although, seriously, those _sheets_, Steve, I'm telling you, _invest in yourself_ and get yourself some decent—right, insults. So thanks," he said, and then he started towards the door.

"Woah, woah, where do you think you're going?" Steve demanded. Tony just blinked at him.

"What do you mean where do I think I'm going? Back to Stark Tower," he said. Steve shook his head.

"No. No, ok you do not get to interrupt my date looking for movie day and then actually _miss_ movie day," Steve said stubbornly.

"Steve, you said Clint and Natasha are on a mission. They won't be here. And God knows where Bruce is," Tony said. "No one is coming to movie day, sorry."

"Well _you_ are, now," Steve insisted, swinging his legs off the couch to make room for Tony.

"Seriously?" Tony asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Least you can do after crashing my date is introduce me to an iconic film," Steve insisted. "Sit." Tony looked like he was about to argue, one corner of his mouth tugging downwards, but he walked over and sat.

"Have you seen _Back to the Future_?"

"That was last week."

"You did _Back to the Future_ without _me_?" Tony asked, sounding mortally offended. Steve gave him a sideways glance.

"Didn't think you'd be coming back," Steve said. "And Clint thought it would be a great film to watch."

"Well, _wasn't_ it? It's a classic," Tony said. He seemed affronted by the very fact that someone might dislike _Back to the Future_. Steve just shrugged.

"I liked the first one. But—the second one—well. Marty goes to the future, to 2015, and almost nothing is like he thought it would be. It's all wrong," Steve said. He sighed and shrugged again. "I don't know. The third one was kind of ridiculous, too." Tony was quiet for a minute.

"Ok, no time travel, got it. Guess that means I can't show you _Thirteen Going on Thirty_. Shame. There's this guy in there who looks _exactly_ like Bruce, I swear. It's hilarious to watch him dance to _Thriller_," Tony said. At Steve's blank expression he just shook his head. "Another day. We'll have a zombie day and throw that music video in there." Tony got up and turned on the Blu-Ray player, switching it over to Netflix, which all of the Avengers collectively decided that he NEEDED to have. Steve didn't watch too many movies or television shows, but he liked some of the art and history programs. He'd also watched all of _Pushing Daisies _in less than a week and raged about its cancellation after watching the last episode. Clint and Natasha now knew not to bring it up. It was a touchy subject.

"How about…have we done _Indiana Jones_ yet?" Tony asked. Steve shook his head, and Tony put the movie on before returning to the couch. They sat in silence for a minute.

"So did you want to talk about it?" Steve asked finally.

"Nothing to talk about, Capsicle," Tony replied. Steve sighed. They watched the movie in silence, and when it was over, Tony got up and left. Steve didn't stop him.

_April 21__st__, 1943, 14:12_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Brooklyn Paramount Theatre, Brooklyn_

Bucky had said he'd be late, but to save him a seat. He had to check in at the center. Pick up his orders. _His orders._ No matter what he said, Steve knew Bucky didn't want to go to war. Why he'd volunteered was a mystery to Steve, it was utterly baffling. That he'd managed to stay out of the draft so far was dumbfounding. But now he was going off to the war, going overseas to get shot at. Steve had no idea how he felt about the situation. He knew Bucky was going to fight to make things right, to protect them all, but he also knew Bucky didn't want to go. At the heart of it he didn't, anyway. And Steve couldn't imagine Bucky going off without him. Maybe it was silly—after all, it was always Bucky saving _his_ ass, not the other way around, but Steve couldn't help but feel like they'd both be safer if they were together.

The newsreels played before the film went up. _Every able bodied young man_… Able-bodied didn't exactly describe Steve. He'd tried again, that morning. But it was the same answer as always. 4F.

"Who cares? Show the movie already!" some guy shouted at the screen. Steve looked over. A woman his age, maybe a little older, was in tears. An older man just stared with a long, grief ridden expression in the direction of the interruption.

"Hey, you want to show some respect?" Steve stage whispered back. There was no reply, and the newsreel went on. Steve couldn't believe the _nerve _of some people—  
"Let's go! Get on with it!" The woman was actively dabbing at her eyes now. Other people were staring. "Just start the cartoon!"

"Hey, want to shut up?" Steve shouted back. He had no tolerance for assholes. And then the asshole stood up. Steve stood up with him, and then headed for the door, sending him a challenging look. He took the bait and followed.

Of course, bravery was no replacement for muscle tone. One solid beating later, and Steve was clutching to the top of a trashcan as a makeshift shield whilst getting his face punched in.

"You just don't know when to give up, do ya?'" said the asshole.

"I can do this all day," Steve replied. The asshole ripped away his shield and punched him. Steve fell, spinning around and nearly knocking himself out on the trashcan. He was still stuck to the pavement when he heard Bucky's voice.

"Hey, pick on someone your own size," he said. Steve was still in the process of getting up, but he heard the punch, heard the other guy's grunt. There he was, Bucky saving the day again. "You know, sometimes I think you like getting punched."  
"I had him on the ropes," Steve said, wiping some blood from his mouth. Bucky bent down and picked up his enlistment form.

"How many times is this?" he asked wryly, glancing over the form. "Ah, you're from Paramus now? You know it's illegal to lie on the enlistment form. I mean seriously, Jersey?" Bucky just gave him a look. Steve just stared back. He was all in uniform, hat and everything, looking like a proper soldier. It felt real now.

"You get your orders?" Steve asked.

"The 107th. Sergeant James Barnes. Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow," Bucky said. It _was_ real now. Bucky was leaving without him.

"I should be going," Steve said. Bucky gave him a hard stare, but then he grinned and threw an arm around Steve's shoulders.

"Come on man. My last night. We got to get you cleaned up!" he said.

"Why? Where are we going?" Steve asked. Bucky shoved a newspaper at him.

"The future." Steve just looked at the paper. He wasn't sure he was ready for the future. Not if it was a future, for however brief a time, without Bucky.

_March 19__th__, 2013, 09:17_

_Location: Tokyo, Japan_

_Disneyland_

"What sort of heartless bastard releases a kraken in _Disneyland_?" Clint asked, sounding not just personally affronted but the most offended Steve had ever heard him. Steve, Clint, and Natasha were high up on some ride, shooting exploding arrows at the monster, but it had some pretty thick skin. Steve and Natasha weren't even useful in this situation; they'd successfully evacuated the park, but beyond that they could only watch as Thor and Iron Man tried to take it down with lasers and electricity and Hulk did his best to punch it into submission.

"What did anyone hope to _gain_ from this, is my question," Steve said, frowning. "Iron Man, watch on your left."

"Got it _covered_, Cap," Tony replied. He was still slightly inebriated, Steve knew, but they'd needed him on this. He'd been there longer than any of them—his suit was faster than any SHIELD tech. The Kraken raised one giant tentacle and slammed it down on Thunder Mountain.

"This is a tragedy," Clint said mournfully.

"Maybe we should try tying it up if we can't kill it," Steve mused. "I mean even those laser's Iron Man's shooting at it aren't doing all that much good. They haven't even sliced off a tentacle. The three of them have barely slowed that thing down."

"No, I've got an idea. It worked in New York," Tony said, sounding resigned.

"New York? OH—Iron Man, no, you have no idea if you'll be able to bust out of that thing—Iron Man! Stand down! Tony _stop—"_ Steve yelled into his comm., but Tony had already flown into the jaws of the kraken. They waited with bated breath. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Thirty seconds. "_Shit_—Thor, we need to take this thing out _now_." Steve jumped off their vantage point, running towards the thing. He didn't really have any great ideas, except to maybe wrestle the thing into submission. "All right, everyone take a tentacle—"

Just then, the Kraken screamed a horrible scream, and Tony burst forth from the kraken, covered in goo. The suit couldn't hardly fly—he fell like a rock to the ground, but so did the kraken. The limbs twitched. Steve was disturbed. He rushed towards Tony, who manually lifted his face plate, grimacing at the slime.

"Guess we're having calamari tonight," he said.

"Oh, god, no," Steve said vehemently. "Tony, what were you thinking?"

"Jonah and the Whale, Steve. You're Catholic, right? You know the story," Tony said dismissively, walking forward stiffly. The suit was not having fun with the slime.

"It's Jonah and the fish, technically—Tony, you had no idea you were going to come out of that. You and Thor barely made a dent in that thing!

"They're usually softer on the inside," Tony said. "Most things are."

"It doesn't _matter_ you still had to pierce the skin and you know it," Steve said. He frowned. "Look you did great, but…"

"But what?" Tony demanded.

"But I'd prefer it if you wouldn't make the sacrifice play when it's not absolutely necessary," Steve said finally.

"Fine, whatever. I just saved us all some time. Now we can go get sushi," Tony said, annoyed. Steve gave Tony a long, hard look. Tony just stared back, challenging. Steve shook his head. He didn't want to start a fight. He was tired of fighting.

"You and the others go ahead. I want to see if SHIELD can get me back soon. I was supposed to have a date tonight," Steve said.

"What? Come on, we're in Japan, might as well get some sushi. I think your date's probably shot in the foot at this point, anyway. It's late back home already and it'll be even later by the time SHIELD manages to get you there," Tony insisted.

"You're probably right," Steve agreed, "but the thing is, I hate sushi."

_March 20__th__, 2013, 17:23_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_90__th__ Precinct NYPD, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

"I'm sorry I missed our date last night," Steve apologized as he approached Ty's desk. Ty had been on active duty most of the day and Steve hadn't had a chance to see him.

"It's all right," Ty said sincerely. "Stuff comes up. Things happen. I get it. Mind telling me what it was?" Ty shut off his computer, getting ready to check out for the day. Maybe they could make up their date tonight, Steve thought.

"You know, I don't think you'd believe me if I told you. I'm not sure _I_ believe me," Steve said. Ty just smirked.

"And you wonder about that whole 'enigma' label," he replied. Steve frowned, but Ty put a hand up. "Wasn't an insult. You don't want to say, that's fine. But I think you owe me a make-up date." Steve smiled, sliding his hands onto Ty's waist.

"Oh, so I do get another date? Good. I've got a few ideas how I can make it up to you," Steve said suggestively. Ty chuckled, putting his arms around Steve's neck.

"Really? You know, I'd be real interested to hear your ideas…"

"Over dinner?"

"Sounds perfect."

_March 23__rd__, 2013, 04:14_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Steve knew that it hadn't even been a month yet since they'd started dating, and he knew that all of _this_ was definitely new, but he was beginning to get used to it. He liked waking up, limbs tangled with Ty, warm from their combined body heat. He liked to hear his boyfriend's soft breathing when he woke up in the middle of the night. And the one time he'd had a nightmare, and woken up shouting for Bucky, Ty hadn't said anything. He'd just held him close and stroked his hair until he calmed down, and they both went back to sleep.

After their date on Wednesday, Ty just hadn't left. And they'd gone together in the precinct in the morning, and left together in the afternoon. Ty had run home to grab some new clothes, but other than that they'd pretty much taken up residence for the past few days in Steve's apartment. He should be shocked, maybe. He should be frightened by how fast everything was moving. But Ty was willing to go with the flow, and for once, so was Steve. He'd seen the damage that waiting could do. He was done with waiting. He was happy, perfectly happy, to live in this moment only, to forget the past, to ignore the future, and just _be_. But of course, not all moments are exactly happy.

Steve's cell phone, placed on his bedside table with the volume up as loud as it could go in case of Avengers-related emergencies, rang out, disturbing the peaceful moment. Ty stirred, and Steve made a grab for the phone. He turned it on just as Ty looked up at him blearily.

"Hello?" Steve answered. He was already trying to figure out how to put on the suit without Ty noticing, but it wasn't Fury or any of the Avengers on the line.

"Oh, Steve, thank God," Pepper's voice answered. "I didn't know who else to call; Natasha and Clint are out on missions, Rhodey's in Afghanistan, Bruce is on a trip to Mumbai for God-knows-what reason—"

"Woah, Pepper, slow down, what's going on?" Steve asked.

"It's _Tony_, Steve. Happy called me, but I can't _do_ anything about this, not without making it worse—"

"Pepper, what is it?"

"He's thrown a party. That in and of itself would not be worrying but Happy says it's gotten a little out of hand, and Tony's had way too much to drink, even for him. He's playing with tech, and Happy's worried he might get out the _suit_ again—Steve, oh, could you please just go over there and try to knock some sense into him?" Pepper pleaded. Well, he could hardly say no to a lady like Pepper. And besides, he was worried about Tony, too. Steve swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Yeah, Pepper, don't worry about it. I'll take care of it," Steve said. He could hear her sigh of relief.

"Thank you so much, Steve. Call me later with an update?"

"Sure thing, ma'am," Steve replied, and then they hung up. Steve sighed, and went to pull on some jeans.

"Who was that?" Ty asked, his voice rough with sleep.

"Pepper," Steve said. "She's—She _was_ Tony's girlfriend," Steve explained. He rifled through his closet, looking for a decent shirt.

"Oh, the one that dumped him? What'd she want? Where are you going?" Ty asked.

"Tony's being himself, and Pepper wants me to put a stop to it," Steve answered. He tugged the shirt over his head then went to the bed and kissed Ty. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Just go back to sleep." Steve grabbed his phone, his keys, and headed out the front door.

Stark Tower was all dark except for the top few floors, which were lit at full blast. Steve couldn't hear the music from the pavement, but he could see all the bodies dancing—well, what _passed_ for dancing in this century, anyway. With a sigh he headed up to the penthouse.

The closer the elevator got, the louder the music became, and when the doors opened Steve wondered how everyone inside wasn't deaf. There were so many people packed into the penthouse Steve genuinely wondered how they all fit. He had to fight his way through the crowd.

"Have you seen Tony? Anybody seen Tony?" Steve asked around, shouting over the music. Someone pointed—ah, the bar. Steve moved through the hot, sweaty masses to get to the bar. He didn't see Tony—until he went _behind _the bar, where he found him sitting, clutching a glass and a bottle of vodka. He looked up as Steve approached with a glassy expression.

"Cap'n," Tony said, raising the vodka in salute. "Didn think you were one for parties."

"Tony," Steve said gently, kneeling down, "what are you doing back here?"

"S'n'it obvious?" he asked. He waved the vodka bottle again. "I'll get back up—later. There were two girls—earlier—maybe I'll do that. Again."

"Tony, I think maybe…maybe it's time for your guests to go," Steve said gently. "Why don't I clear everybody out for you?"

"No, no, party's just—just _started_," Tony argued.

"It's four in the morning, Tony," Steve replied. "I think this party's been going for a while. I think I'll tell everyone to wind it down." Steve got up.

"Just like Pepper," Tony grumbled, and then he looked suddenly grief-stricken. Steve had no idea what to do. He had no idea how to cut the music. He edged along the walls, looking for a stereo system. He circled the whole room, but he didn't see anything anywhere.

"How the hell am I supposed to turn this music off?" Steve complained aloud. The music cut off suddenly. Steve, immensely startled but grateful, stood up on the coffee table. It seemed quite rude to do, but it was the only way he would be seen by the whole party.

"Hello everyone," Steve said. "I hope you have all had a lovely evening, but it's getting rather late now, so it's time to start winding down. How about we have one last song for the night and then end this great party?" The crowd cheered—good, everyone must be tired by now, Steve figured. He stepped down from the table, and the music started back up again. It sincerely disturbed him, but he figured he'd question the magical music later.

One song later, everyone cleared out of the penthouse. Steve went back behind the bar. Tony was barely conscious. Steve hauled him to his feet, helping him into the bedroom, where he fell down onto the mattress. Steve took Tony's shoes and socks off.

"You should probably change," Steve said. Tony mumbled something that just sounded like 'mmmmmgerblemm' to Steve. He shrugged and went into the kitchen. He rummaged around for a glass, and then poured some water. He went back into the bedroom. Tony was already asleep, so he put it on the bedside table, found some ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet and set it there as well. He shifted Tony on the bed slightly, moving him onto his side in case he vomited, and pulled up the covers around him. It was the best he could do.

Even in sleep, the other man looked tired. Deep circles were under his eyes, and he fidgeted, like he was in constant discomfort. Steve wished he could help him somehow, but he didn't think there was anything he could do. He turned off the lights as he left.

_May 15__th__, 2013, 17:04_

_Location: Kadnikov, Russia_

"Steve, what is it?" Tony demanded. Steve didn't even hear him. He was too busy staring. He couldn't look away. It was like a train wreck, like a nightmare. This was supposed to be a routine mission—if any of their missions could be called routine. The Russian government itself had called them in, fearing insurgents operating in the area. Tony had figured it was the Ten Rings, and they'd all agreed with him. The plan was go in, take them out (alive, if possible), and deliver them to SHIELD. But they'd found an empty shed, all but deserted, with only a few items left behind. They'd obviously left in a rush. They'd even left one gun behind.

Steve's fingers ghosted over the weapon, with its glowing blue core. The tesseract couldn't power it, no, but Steve had a good idea what _was_. But that was the least disturbing thing about it. His fingers found the logo, the brand. He'd thought this ended seventy years ago. He'd thought he was done. He'd thought his sacrifice had been enough.

It wasn't.

"Steve?" Tony's hand on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie.

"It's…" Steve couldn't even say it. He felt sick. He felt more than sick. This was supposed to be over. If it wasn't over, then what was the point? What had he fought for? What had he _died_ for? Well, he hadn't died, exactly. But he might as well have. Everyone else did. And what had it been for?

"I know that symbol," Natasha said grimly. Her fingers gently moved his out of the way, revealing the red skull with its tentacles beneath. "Hydra."

"How do you—?" Steve asked, but Natasha just shook her head.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "What matters is we've obviously found a small group of them that's still operational. I don't think I need to tell _you_ how dangerous that is." Steve handed the weapon to Tony.

"Tell us what you can about this," Steve said. "How it works. Who could have made it." Tony took the weapon, an action that looked awkward and bulky with his metal gauntlets.

"I'll need to do some further testing, but it looks like it might run on arc tech. Nobody should be able to replicate that yet—except Ivan Vanko, who's dead," Tony said. "Can't tell what it _does_, though; it doesn't look like repulsor tech—" Steve grabbed the weapon back from Tony, pointed at chair across the room, and fired. As Steve expected, the chair disintegrated. He handed it back to a stunned Tony.

"It does _that_," Steve said, voice rough. "It'll dissolve you in a blast. I don't know the technical term. Howard explained it to me a long time ago—specific targeted atomic destruction or something like that. Said he was working on something similar, but less specific. Guess that turned out to be those bombs they dropped on Japan." Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. He'd been glad when Howard hadn't been able to replicate the technology without the tesseract. He'd been glad when Howard had barely been able to puzzle out the tech at all, when he'd said it was years ahead of him. No one should have that kind of power. No one.

"This…I mean, I can count on one hand the people who should be capable of producing this," Tony said. "But I didn't see Vanko coming. I'm not going to pretend I know every crazy guy in a basement. You said _Howard_ told you it was a specific targeted atomic whatever?"

"Your father. Yeah," Steve said. Tony just stared at the weapon.

"I knew you were fighting Nazis. And…Hydra, or whatever. Dad never mentioned these. I assumed you were up against bullets," Tony said, sounding dumbstruck. "How in the _hell_ did this exist in the 1940s?"

"That's Hydra for you. As innovative as they are destructive," Natasha answered. Steve sent her a questioning glance, but she didn't elaborate.

"If it helps your research," Steve said, "it doesn't work on vibranium." Tony squinted at the gun.

"Huh. That's…huh," Tony said. Then his head tilted. "What, exactly, is _vibranium_?" Steve tapped his shield. "Huh." Tony's faceplate snapped back into place. "I think it's time to get back to my lab. The quicker we can get answers on this thing the better." Steve nodded.

"We'll meet you back at base, Iron Man," he said. Tony laughed through the suit's electronic voice.

"So Stark Tower is base now, huh Cap? Good to know," he said. He exited the small shanty and then the other Avengers heard the sound of his repulsors activating. Steve looked around the shack. He felt helpless. He felt furious. He felt—he felt more than he could bear to feel.

"The helicarrier will be outside in five," Natasha announced. "Are you compromised, Captain?" She didn't ask it with any maliciousness, or with any judgment. It was just a simple question. It always was with Natasha. She was ever the professional. Steve just shook his head.

"I just want to get these bastards," he said. "Once and for all." Natasha gave him a level gaze.

"Things are rarely ever once and for all, Captain." Steve smiled bitterly.

"Don't I know it."

_May 16__th__, 2013, 10:16_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Stark Tower – Lab, Manhattan_

"Oh, good, finally," Tony said as Steve walked in through the door. He was in sweats and a black tank top, through which his bright blue reactor shone. He was covered in a light sheen of sweat that, far from being unattractive, bounced the light nicely off his muscles. "You brought it, right?" Steve took his shield out of the art portfolio bag he'd stashed it in.

"What do you mean, _finally_?" Steve asked. "It's only ten."

"Um, yeah, it's ten in the morning. I've been working for…twenty-one hours already," Tony said. He made a grab for the shield, but Steve pulled it back, regarding Tony warily.

"What are you going to do to it?" he asked.

"I'm just going to scan it. That's all. I swear. I want to see its atomic structure," Tony said, putting his hands up. Cautiously, Steve handed his shield over to the genius.

"So you haven't slept in at least thirty hours," Steve said as Tony placed the shield carefully on a clear table. The table lit up with green patterns that looked a bit like a circuit board. Lines ghosted over his shield.

"Forty-six," Tony clarified.

"You've been up for forty-six hours straight?" Steve asked. Steve, of course, was perfectly capable of this, though it usually made him irritable beyond what anyone could stand, but Tony was _human_. Tony didn't have the advantage of the serum. "That is not healthy."

"Thanks, Mom," Tony said dryly. Something pinged, and Tony looked at one of his numerous clear computer screens. Steve had only seen tech like this before on the helicarrier. His laptop, he knew, wasn't a quarter so advanced.

"Have you eaten since yesterday?" Steve asked.

"Hm? Uh, I don't know, I don't remember," Tony replied, typing something in. He stared at the screen and then guffawed. "_Vibranium_—fuck I should have guessed."

"What? What is it?"

"I discovered this element. Rediscovered, whatever," Tony said, waving a hand. "It's the core of my arc reactor. Dad left me a blueprint for it. A very cryptic blueprint, but a blueprint nonetheless." Tony ran a finger over the surface of the shield. It felt very intimate to Steve. "Should have guessed."

"All right, you've solved the whole mystery metal thing," Steve said. "Why don't we grab a burger or something?" Tony looked up, his eyebrows pinched together.

"You want to grab a burger," he stated.

"Yes."

"It's ten in the morning."

"You've been up for _forty-six hours_ I'm pretty sure you can ignore the time of day," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "My metabolism certainly can. I'm starving. Time for second breakfast."

"I'm kind of in the middle of solving our problems, Rogers," Tony said.

"You're kind of about to keel over because you haven't slept in forty-six hours and I'm guessing you haven't eaten in at least ten," Steve said. He wasn't scolding Tony. Not exactly. Ok, he was scolding Tony a tiny bit.

"So you want to grab a burger," Tony said, sounding a bit disbelieving.

"Yeah, maybe you know a place where they haven't been processed and flattened until they're a vaguely meat-like substance but certainly not a burger," Steve said resentfully. Some things in the future were better. The culinary arts were not. "And somewhere with decent fries."

"Oh, I can show you a decent burger—what have you been eating, McDonalds crap? Ugh. I shudder just to think of it. There's this awesome place on sixth—real burgers, fresh made fries, you're gonna love it, Cap," Tony said, walking with Steve out of the lab. Steve smiled.

"Ok, but first—don't you think you should shower and change?" Tony blinked, then looked at himself.

"Possibly."

"_Probably_."

"It would be a good idea."

"It would be a _great_ idea."

_May 16__th__, 2013, 11:04_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Diner, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

"Here we are," Tony said as Happy stopped the car. Steve and Tony opened the doors and got out. Steve squinted.

"I thought we were going to get a burger," Steve said, frowning. They were back in Brooklyn, in Williamsburg no less. Tony grinned.

"That's _exactly_ what we're doing. You haven't done much exploring, have you? Just sticking to the old haunts, huh? But you'll like this place," Tony said. It was strange, to have _Tony_ leading him through his own hometown. Yet he walked with confidence until they happened upon an old railway carriage on 85th and Broadway. It didn't look at all like somewhere Tony Stark might go, with its red and green paint chipping, and dirty awnings flapping in the wind. Tony just waltzed on inside, so Steve followed after him.

The place was pretty busy, with a bunch of folks talking and laughing and eating. The radio—uh, _stereo_, probably—was blasting hits that Steve was beginning to recognize as being from the fifties. A young girl, maybe just out of her teens, dressed in an outfit that matched the décor, greeted them. Tony slipped her a fifty, much to Steve's chagrin, and she cleared a booth and seated them right away, taking their simple order and scampering off to the kitchen.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that? Oh, you don't like bribery?" Tony asked smirking. "She probably would have seated us quickly anyway. I'm _Iron Man_. I mean, come on. I just gave her the best tip she'll get all day." Steve rolled his eyes. He couldn't argue with that. Tony was, obnoxiously, right. There didn't seem to be much of a line outside, either, so Steve supposed he could let it slide just this once.

"Fine, fine. I'm not going to complain. I'm starving," Steve admitted.

"How much do you _eat_ anyway?" Tony asked with all the fascination of a scientist. Steve just chuckled.

"You, know, Howard asked—uh, sorry. A lot. My metabolism runs at four times the speed of a normal person. So I guess I eat around four times as much. I usually take in about eight thousand calories in a day. But I can survive on less. The military gave me double rations; that was all they could afford. I did fine on that, but I do get…irritable," Steve said honestly. The Howling Commandos always told him he was either the biggest pain in the ass when he hadn't eaten, or the most furious son of a bitch on the field. Tony gave him a measured look.

"Must be weird for you," Tony said. "Didn't think much about it that first mission. But it must be weird for you, being in this new century. Must be weird for you, meeting a friend's son, older than your friend was."

"Howard and I were more like acquaintances than friends," Steve clarified cautiously. "I didn't know him all that well."

"What did you think of him?" Tony asked. Steve almost didn't want to answer. He knew he was wading in dangerous waters—he'd been warned by everyone from Rhodey to Fury not to bring up Howard around Tony. He wasn't sure why Tony was luring him down into the depths, but at the same time, how could he refuse to answer?

"I had great admiration for Howard," Steve said honestly. "You could always tell he was the smartest person in the room, but he never made you feel stupid. Called everybody 'pal', and that's how he made everybody feel—like they were friends with him, even if they weren't. Very friendly guy, Howard. Best pilot I've ever seen—not counting you and the suit. I don't know what you want me to say, Tony. He made my costume. Hell, he helped make _me_. Erskine wouldn't have been able to perfect the serum without the vitaray machine. Never quite understood him though. Got the feeling no one really did." Steve didn't know what else to say. Tony was quiet for a moment.

"I think you're right on that account," he said, and that was that. The waitress showed up with their burgers, which looked amazing, like _actual_ burgers, and when Steve took his first bite—well, it was love. He could hear Tony laughing at him. He must have made a ridiculous face.

"I thought you'd like it," Tony said.

"Like is an understatement," Steve said dramatically. "I think I'm in love."

"Well, since I've introduced you to your one true love, can we be friends now?" Tony asked. His tone was playful. It was obvious he was joking. But Steve put down the burger.

"We are friends, Tony," Steve said seriously.

"Ah, well, good to know that the key to a super soldier's heart is gastronomy. Hey, if you're willing to branch out a bit, I know another place in SoHo where they make white truffle burgers—you haven't _lived_ until you've had one," Tony said easily. Everything about Tony was easy. Even his posture at that moment was the model of _easy_, with one arm draped across the back of the booth, fingers drumming absently. Steve had noticed he tended to do that. He wasn't sure if it was a nervous tic or if it meant that Tony was thinking. Steve hadn't puzzled Tony out yet. It bothered him.

"I'll never turn down a good burger," Steve said.

"Yeah? Hm. I'll keep that in mind," Tony said. They finished their early lunch in friendly banter. It was, Steve realized, a lot easier to get along with Tony than he'd thought.

_May 16__th__, 2013, 19:21_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Diner, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Steve heard the key turn and the door unlock, so, spoon covered with marinara sauce still in hand, he headed out towards the entryway, greeting Ty with a kiss as he opened the door. Ty just smiled.

"I'm glad you're back," he said as he shut the door behind them. "How was the art gallery?" Steve, lacking anything better to tell him, had said he was going to an art gallery opening in Berlin for a few days, courtesy of Tony. He couldn't, after all, very well tell him he was going on a secret mission to Russia to root out insurgents, and now that he was back he certainly couldn't tell him all about Hydra, couldn't tell him that it was the group he'd fought against, couldn't explain how shaken he felt. So instead he wandered back into the kitchen, Ty following behind him, and said,

"Oh, it was great. I don't have anything against modern art, but I like the classics, and this exhibit was mostly modeled off romantic era paintings," Steve said. Lies, lies, lies. Steve had told more lies in these past three months, he figured, than he'd told in his whole life. He didn't feel right about it. He'd asked Fury's opinion on the matter. After getting glared at with one eye, Fury's answer had been definitive.

"You will _not_ endanger this Initiative—or yourself—by revealing your identity to civilians, is that clear, soldier? We've given you a cover story for a reason. Stick to it. I don't care if you marry this guy—do you know how many Russian spies stayed in the States after, got married, and never breathed a word to their partner? It can be done. Keep your lips _zipped_, soldier. You need someone to talk to? We'll get you a fucking therapist," Fury had snapped. That had been the end of that discussion.

"Good," Ty said. "So, what's for dinner? Spaghetti?"

"With chicken parmesan," Steve added. "I've been told my recipe is to die for, which is, of course, understandable since I got it from—" _Gabriella and Antonio Carbonell, just down the street—they own _The Leaning Tower_ on Leopold St. You've been there, haven't you? Nice couple. Just had a baby girl before I shipped out._ It's what Steve meant to say, until he realized that of course Ty wouldn't know them. _The Leaning Tower_ had been closed for God only knew how many years. Gabriella and Antonio were undoubtedly dead by now. "—um, a couple of real Italian immigrants. Owned a restaurant. Nice people." Steve turned the heat off under the sauce. He didn't feel very hungry anymore. He felt Ty's hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," Ty said softly. "You ok? You've got that look again." Steve blinked.

"Look? What look?"

"Like you're a thousand miles away, somewhere I can't follow," Ty said honestly. "Like the ground's fallen out beneath you."

"Is it really that bad?" Steve said, half-joking. Ty didn't smile.

"You know you can talk to me, Steve," he said.

_Except that I can't_.

"I know," Steve said.

_May 18__th__, 2013, 10:16_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Gym – Stark Tower, Manhattan_

Another one down. The punching bags in the Stark Tower could stand a little more than the bags at the gym in Brooklyn, but they still had a breaking point. Steve's last punch broke the metal chain that held it in place, sending the thing flying across the room and landing next to the boxing ring, sending up a cloud of sawdust. Steve just stared after it. He wondered if there were enough punching bags in the world for him to work out his thoughts.

"Hey Captain, you awake in there?" Tony asked, knocking on his head. Steve shook himself and swatted Tony's hand away.

"Yeah, I'm _awake_, why?"

"You've got that look."

"The thousand-miles-away-and-like-the-ground's-fallen-o ut-underneath-me look?" Steve asked, snorting. Tony blinked.

"Yes, actually, that's the exact look I was talking about. Apt description," Tony said. Steve sighed and shook his head.

"I just don't feel right about it. Clint, and Natasha, off in Turkey, while we're _here_. I know it's a two-man mission. I know they've got the most experience in covert ops, but…"

"But you _personally_ want to be out there, kicking Hyrda's butt," Tony finished for him.

"I didn't fight many Nazis," Steve said. "Some. And I guess plenty of Hydra agents could be called Nazis for a time, but eventually, they were there own thing. Mostly, I didn't fight the Nazis. I fought Hydra. My boys went up against Hydra, died against Hydra. _Bucky_ died fighting against Hydra on one of our last missions. I put that plane in the water, thinking we were done. Thinking it was over. Thinking I'd leave the world just a little safer than it had been the day before, even if the war was still going on. But they're _back_ Tony, and Natasha makes it sound like they _never left_, and all I can think of is the Red Skull's grin and that obnoxious platform—_cut off one head and two more will take its place_." Steve shook his head, lost for words.

"We'll get them, Steve," Tony said seriously. "Clint and Natasha are going to find them, and once they do, we're going to go in and take them out."

"I know," Steve said. "I just hate waiting."

"Isn't patience a virtue? Aren't you the living embodiment of virtue? Ipso facto you should be patient," Tony said. Steve rolled his eyes.

"Not helpful, Stark." Tony slung an arm around Steve's shoulders, which, really, must have taken a bit of effort considering their difference in height.

"Well I don't have any helpful advice for, you know, vengeful feelings. I still have it out for the Ten Rings. But I _am_ a master of distraction. How does going for Pop Burger sound?" Tony asked.

"What's a pop burger?" Steve asked.

"Tiny burgers. They're delicious. We'll just have to order like, ten, knowing your metabolism. They're fun. They're tiny. It's a novelty. Just go with it," Tony said. Steve chuckled.

"Whatever you say, Tony," he said. "I'm always down for a good burger."

_June 22__nd__, 2013, 23:14_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

Two weeks. Two weeks he had been gone, him and Clint and Natasha, having insisted on going for the ride for a second mission. Two weeks searching through Eastern Europe for a hidden organization that showed no signs of resurfacing. They'd barely found anything in the way of evidence, and the only hideout they'd found had been just like the last one—deserted. With nothing to go on, they returned, and Steve was more irritable than ever.

So, when he finally turned on his cell phone as they exited the SHIELD jet, Steve was less than pleased to receive another call from Pepper. Not, of course, because he was inherently displeased to speak with Pepper, who was a lovely woman and had many interesting things to say about art, but because he already knew what she was about to say before she said it.

"It's only been going since eight," Pepper said by way of greeting, "But Happy says Tony is dangerously drunk already. It's the fifth time _this week_, Steve—I don't know what to _do_, I didn't know who else to _call_, Rhodey's still overseas—"

"Don't worry, Pepper, I'll talk to him," Steve said unhappily. Pepper sighed. She sounded like she'd been crying.

"I don't know what to _do_ Steve. It wasn't working. It wasn't _going _to work. But I never meant—"

"I know, Pepper. He knows that too. Don't worry, I'll take care of it," Steve said. He hung up the phone and hopped in the SHIELD provided car. "Stark Tower, please."

It was just like before. He'd done this four times now, and he certainly wasn't there for every time Tony went off the rails. It was the same story—loud music, sweaty bodies grinding on each other, lots of alcohol. It wasn't to Steve's tastes by any means, and he couldn't understand why anyone would like it. He pushed through the crowd, asking for Tony again. No one seemed to know where he was, until he got to the fringes of the crowd and a girl pointed—Steve looked, with horror, because she pointed _outside._ Steve nearly had a heart attack then and there. There, wandering about alone on the _rail-less balcony_, was Tony, wobbling and looking like a good gust of wind might just toss his drunk ass over the side. Steve moved quickly. He got out onto the balcony.

"Tony?" Steve called cautiously. He didn't want to startle him.

"Steve!" Tony said, thrusting the bottle of rum into the air. "Great party! Is it your birthday?"

"No—Tony, _you_ threw the party. This is _your_ house—oh for _God's sake_ will you put the bottle down?" Steve marched out onto the balcony. It was a warm night, but the breeze gave him goosebumps. He was only afraid of heights when he was lacking a parachute, and this happened to be one of those occasions. He grabbed Tony's arm and led him back inside. He _was_ wobbling dangerously. Steve asked the air,

"Ok, can the music magically shut off again?" Conveniently, it did. Tony must have some voice recognition software built into the invisible stereo, Steve figured. Everyone stopped dancing. Steve didn't even bother to get up on a table. He didn't care that he was holding onto Tony's arm like an angry parent. He just wanted them out.

"Thanks for showing up everyone," Steve said, though he knew his tone was anything but 'thankful'.

"Steve," Tony whined softly, but Steve ignored him.

"You can all now officially say you've partied in Iron Man's penthouse. Now please _go_. The party is _over_. Iron Man has been called for official duty." For a minute, those who could see him just stared. He glared. "_Go!_" They scrambled for the door, and within minutes, everyone was out.

"Kill joy," Tony slurred. "Party pooper. Captain party pooper." Tony giggled. Steve just dragged him into the bedroom. "'M not tired Captain Kill Joy."

"Good," Steve said. He dragged Tony into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

"What—" Tony asked, but before he could even crack a dirty joke, Steve shoved him under the cold spray. Tony yelped and tried to get out, but Steve blocked his path. "STEVE! WHAT THE _HELL_!"

"Do you think this is a game?" Steve shouted back over the pounding of the water. "Do you think this is funny? Do you think I like coming in here and cleaning up after you?" Tony just stared at him, slightly less glassy-eyed than he had been a few seconds ago. "My father was an _alcoholic_, did you know that? Do you think I like cleaning up after you anymore than I liked cleaning up after him? Do you think I want to watch you drink yourself into being a different person, like he did? Do you think I want to watch you drink yourself into an early grave? Because _fuck that_, Stark." Tony looked properly attentive now, so Steve shut off the water, but Tony still stood, dripping wet and fully clothed, in the luxury shower.

"You don't have to come after me, Rogers," Tony snapped. "I didn't ask you to—"

"No, you didn't, but you want to know who did? Pepper. Pepper calls me every time you get in too deep, Tony," Steve said. "And do you know how _she_ knows? Because _Happy_ calls her. Because they _worry_. And I come because _I_ worry. And you _know_ that if Rhodey were here, he'd be here too, and if Clint and Natasha weren't still debriefing, so would they, and so would Bruce if he weren't in South America. Because we're your _friends_, like it or not, and what you do to yourself _you do to us_. Tony, what the hell were you thinking? What were you doing out on that balcony? You could've gotten yourself _killed_. And then I would have gotten a very different call." Steve put his face in one hand and shook his head. He couldn't stand the thought of a call like that. Tony didn't say anything. He didn't even move. He just watched Steve.

"Tony, I get that you're going through some stuff," Steve said. "Believe me, I get that. But you don't need to destroy yourself in the process. Come _talk_ to me. Because—Jesus, Stark, do you know what it was like, waking up in another century? Can you even comprehend it? Because I still can't. Everyone is dead. Everyone I ever knew, from my best friend and the Howling Commandos to my neighbors on the street in Brooklyn. I can't stand the thought of one more death, Stark. Especially not yours. Who the hell will go with me for ridiculously tiny burgers if you accidentally fall off a building? Who'll organize a fucking movie night in my apartment when I'm too depressed to see straight? You picked me up. Now I'm returning the favor." Tony just watched him. He didn't say a word. Steve was amazed to find a situation in which the witty man had nothing to say. Eventually Steve just shrugged.

"Sorry about the water. But you need to sober up. Change your clothes. Get some rest. Don't do anything stupid. I'm going to have Clint come check on you in an hour," Steve said. He headed out of the bathroom.

"Rogers," Tony called out. Steve stopped and turned around. "Are we…we still good?" He sounded so small then. So unlike the crazy, arrogant, selfish bastard Steve had grown so fond of. Steve marched back into the bathroom, and pulled a surprise Tony into a bear hug. He didn't care that the front of his clothes were now as soaking wet and cold as Tony. He let the other man go.

"You're such an idiot," Steve said. And then he left.

_June 23__rd__, 2013 01:30_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Steve opened the door to his apartment, still all wet down the front, still furious, still frustrated, and most of all _exhausted_. As soon as he opened that door, the lights turned on and Ty emerged from the bedroom.

"Steve! I didn't know you were getting back today," he said. Then he frowned. "Christ, Rogers, you look like you've been through the mill. And why are you wet?" Steve just sighed as he shut the door and walked into his bedroom.

"Soon as I got in Pepper called. Had to take care of Tony. I kind of tossed him in a cold shower," Steve said. "Yelled at him a bit. He _needed_ it, but…God, I'm tired, Ty." He sat on the bed and peeled off his t-shirt, Ty helping him pull it over his head. If he'd been thinking, he would have changed in the bathroom, but he didn't remember to think until he heard Ty's intake of breath.

"Steve—_shit_, what happened?" he asked. Steve's abdomen was bandaged. A bullet had just barely grazed his side during the only action he and Clint and Natasha saw in Eastern Europe.

"Oh, it's, uh, it's nothing. Don't worry about it," Steve said dismissively.

"That doesn't look like nothing," Ty said, looking at Steve very seriously.

"It's—I just—fell. And got clipped by a bike. A motorbike," he said, looking away. He was a terrible liar when put on the spot.

"Steve, I'm not an idiot. I'm a cop. I know dressing for a gunshot wound when I see one," Ty said, sitting next to him on the bed. He put a hand on Steve's chin, making him meet his eyes. "You want to tell me why you got shot at while visiting art museums?"

"Just got clipped by a motorcycle, Ty," Steve mumbled, eyes downcast. He hated lying to him. "It was an accident." Ty dropped his hand. He was quiet for a minute.

"All right," he said. "You must be tired. Why don't we just get to bed." Steve nodded. He changed out of his pants into sweats and climbed into bed, grateful for the cool sheets and warm cover, for the soft pillow under his head. He was more grateful for Ty's arms around him.

"You're sure you don't want to tell me anything about your trip, Steve?" Ty asked softly once the lights were out. Steve paused. He thought about it. For a minute, he thought about telling him everything—about his past in the twenties, thirties, and forties, about the Avengers, about the Hydra base in Russia, about their miserable and fruitless efforts in Europe—but it wasn't just his secret to tell. It wasn't his call to make. And more importantly, he wasn't entirely certain he could trust Ty with the information.

"I liked seeing the sunflowers. VanGogh's sunflowers. In Amsterdam," Steve said. Ty didn't ask him any more questions. Steve fell into an uneasy sleep.

_June 29__th__, 2013, 14:03_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

After a slightly awkward weekend with Ty, with Steve fielding questions with lie upon lie upon lie, Steve ended up leaving that Monday on another mission to Europe, this time to France, and this time with Iron Man on board for part of the mission. It had gone the same as before, with reports of suspicious activity and an abandoned hideout, only they'd managed to find one _still operational_ facility. After stealing what they could and subsequently taking down the Hydra agents—well, they still didn't have anything. The old cyanide trick was still popular with the group. The documents they'd found would help, but only once Tony or someone on the team had figured them out. So Steve, having contributed what he could, returned to his apartment on Saturday, considerably more battered. Two broken ribs, a mostly healed gunshot wound from the week before, various cuts and bruises, and a split lip. Steve didn't know how he would begin to explain it to Ty. He walked through the front door anyway.

"Steve! You're…back…" Ty trailed off as he took in Steve's appearance. His expression closed off. Steve's whole body tensed. He knew what was coming. They both knew what was coming. Steve sat down on the couch next to his lover. Ty didn't say anything for a while. Steve knew he was cataloguing his injuries, knew he could tell just from the way Steve walked and held himself that he had broken ribs.

"If I ask," Ty said, "what do you plan to tell me?" Steve winced, and not from pain. Not physical pain, anyway.

"Ty, I got into a fight," Steve said.

"You got into a fight," Ty repeated. Steve nodded. "Well at least that has to be partially true. Want to tell me who the fight was with?" Steve shifted.

"With…some bad people," Steve said.

"Bad people. Right," Ty said. "Probably also true. You want to tell me where you were?"

"I told you before I left, I went to _France_," Steve tried, Ty just nodded.

"All right, you went to France. You probably did," Ty said. His green eyes looked straight through Steve. "But you weren't there for any art museums. Hell, I don't know why you keep bothering to use that excuse if you're going to tell me you're going to Europe every time. You said you saw the _Louvre_ last time and while I'm sure there are plenty of other museums in France, your story's not holding up so well anymore, Steve."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Ty," Steve said, resigned. He liked this. He liked what they had. He could feel it slipping through his fingers, just another thing ripped away with time.

"The truth would be great, Steve," Ty said. He didn't sound angry, didn't even sound disappointed, just earnest. That was Ty all over. He was never demanding. He was always understanding. He had to be the most understanding man on the _planet_, and yet Steve still couldn't give him the little that he needed.

"I was in France, Ty. I got into a fight. That's the truth," Steve said.

"But you didn't go there for the art museum," Ty said. Steve sighed. Ty took Steve's hand in his. "You can talk to me."

"I don't know what to tell you."

"You don't know what _lie_ to tell me, you mean," Ty said. "Steve, how dumb do you think I am? I mean, really, how utterly, rock stupid do you think I would have to be to believe you? You're a _terrible_ liar. Ok, soldier meets Tony Stark because he helps rescue him, sure. I could buy that. Kind of odd, but weirder things have happened. But a twenty-six year old guy doesn't know that _Star Wars_ is more than three movies long? Has never seen _Back to the Future_ or _Breakfast Club_ or _Sixteen Candles_? Hell, hasn't seen _Star Trek _or heard of _American Idol_? Doesn't know what 'googling' means and has to be introduced to Wikipedia? Doesn't have a single profile on any social media site? Didn't know what a _cassette_ was, or a floppy disk? Ok, maybe, _maybe_ if you _actually were _Amish, I could buy all of that. But you're not actually Amish, Steve. And then—trips to Europe? Trips to elsewhere in the states that oddly seem to coincide with sightings of the _Avengers_? Steve, come on. Just talk to me."

Steve was a bit stunned. He hadn't realized _quite_ how thin his disguise was. He probably should have. He should have known he couldn't function in the modern world just yet. _Almost Amish_. Right. He looked at Ty. So he knew. Or was pretty sure that he knew. He knew Steve's real identity, or kind of did. What would be the harm in confirming it? He could just come out with it. _Ty, I'm Captain America_. It would be easy. _Ty, I was born in 1918_. Simple. _Ty, I've been frozen for 70 years_. Ok, a little weird, but still easy enough to say. So why didn't he?

If Ty knew, then he'd know their schedule. He'd know when the Avengers were mobilized, for covert ops or otherwise. He'd know _all_ of their secret identities eventually—the fact that Clint and Natasha and Bruce all lived with Tony had to be a major tip off. Telling Ty was inviting him in permanently. It would have to be more than a declaration of love. It was a declaration of permanent commitment in some way or another. Steve loved Ty. Ty was the perfect guy. He was funny, sweet, understanding. But in all their time together, Steve hadn't once thought of getting a ring. And that said something.

"I can't, Ty," Steve said. "I can't." Ty looked a little crushed and Steve wished he could take the words back, but he just couldn't do it. He couldn't say it. He couldn't confirm Ty's suspicions. Ty just nodded. He leaned in and kissed Steve gently on the lips.

"And I love you, Steve Rogers," Ty said softly, "But I can't be with someone who can't trust me." Ty gave him a sad smile, got up, and walked out.

_July 3__rd__, 2013, 22:43_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Steve lay awake, doing exactly what he had been doing for days—wondering if he'd made the right decision. He missed Ty. He missed their jokes, he missed cooking with him in the kitchen (and inevitably getting absolutely no cooking done). He missed his smile. He missed those green eyes. He hadn't needed to go into work at the precinct all week, and he didn't know if he was grateful for that or if he wished fervently that he could see Ty again. It was an approach-avoidance conflict and Steve hated it.

He also hated that it was July. Yet another July. Life moves forward. Steve hadn't minded life moving forward a week ago. Now he wasn't so sure about it again. If he couldn't trust Ty, who _could_ he trust? If he couldn't bring himself to commit to someone that perfect, who could he ever commit to? And how could he commit with Fury breathing down his neck, warning him not to expose his identity? He had no idea what to do.

He wondered if he should have gotten on a plane to England before they left France on that last mission. He had thought about it. It was close enough. Hell, he could just take the Eurostar over. He could go and find her. But what good would it do, interrupting her life in that way? It would be a shock, and probably not a good one. He didn't want to do that to Peggy. He couldn't. Life had to move forward, no matter how desperately Steve wished he could turn back the clock and go _home_.

Yet, if he went home, he wouldn't have ever met the Avengers. And if there was one good thing in this century, it was his friends on the team. Ty had been a good thing too, but Steve hated how he'd hurt him. Maybe he should quit his job, Steve thought. He didn't want to make work uncomfortable for Ty, and it wasn't like Steve actually needed the money. He could move out of Brooklyn, go live in Stark Tower, and never interact with civilians again.

Ok, maybe that was a bit drastic. He would never leave Brooklyn. He would die in Brooklyn. Well, at least, he'd be buried there. Assuming they could recover his body. Assuming there was a body _to_ recover. Actually, at the moment he was probably slated to be buried at Arlington. He should really talk to Fury about that.

These were really lovely thoughts to have the night before his birthday.

Steve's phone went off, an obnoxious buzz on the bedside table. Steve reached over and turned it on.

"'lo?" Steve answered.

"Hey, Steve, it's Clint," Clint said on the other line, sounding a bit odd. "Look, uh, I guess I should probably take care of this, but, uh, I know you've been handling it lately and I think he likes you better than me—"

"Oh, god, what's Tony done now?" Steve asked, sitting up in bed and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Well, it's not a giant party this time, but he's kind of drowned himself in booze," Clint said. "I'm—I mean, I'm a little more worried about this to be honest. He's up in the penthouse alone. I mean, Jarvis is keeping an eye on him and keeping me posted, but—I just think he could really use a friend like you right now, Steve." Steve sighed.

"Ok, yeah, I'll be there in fifteen," he said, and hung up.

"Just once," Steve said, walking over to where Tony was, half-passed out on the couch, "I'd like to come to Stark Tower not for an emergency or for the purposes of keeping alcohol out of your veins and away from your abused liver."

"You came for that party, once," Tony said, sounding surprisingly lucid. He had a glass of rum in his hand. He wasn't looking at Steve.

"Do you mean the one you ran me out of, or the ones I put an end to?"

"You came to apologize to me. You came to get me back on the team. Twice," Tony said. "You come for the gym here sometimes."

"Fine, let me further clarify: I would some day like to come to the penthouse for a pleasant experience," Steve said wryly. He sat down on the couch next to Tony. Tony poured some more rum. Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, please, Steve, I'm not about to go falling off any balconies. Allow me my vice," he said.

"Pretty rude, not offering your guest a drink," Steve said. This time it was Tony's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"You want a drink? Fine, there's coke in the fridge," he said. Steve shook his head.

"No, I think I'll join you," Steve replied.

"You can't get drunk."

"I can try."

"You'd have to overload your system with alcohol. We'd have to funnel it into you. You'd have to get alcohol poisoning to get drunk," Tony replied, ever the scientist. Steve shrugged.

"Fine. Sometimes I like the burn," he said. "Pour me a glass. You're such a terrible host." Tony just guffawed as he poured Steve a glass.

"No one has ever called me a terrible host. I host the _best_ parties."

"You host the best parties, but I'm _sure _you've been called a terrible host," Steve disagreed, taking the drink. He threw it back. It burned his mouth, his throat, and warmed his stomach. He couldn't get drunk, no, but he wanted to forget that for an evening.

"Well, you might be right," Tony said finally. They were quiet for a while. Steve finished his glass and poured another. "Did you drink before?"

"Before the serum. Yeah, why?" Steve said.

"Thought maybe you wouldn't. What you said about your dad," Tony said. Steve shrugged.

"I always knew when to stop. I was a lightweight, anyway. I didn't drink often, and I got drunk even less often," Steve replied. For the most part, he'd only gotten drunk when Bucky insisted—and once, on a particularly difficult anniversary of his mother's death. He knew what it was to drown his sorrows.

"So, why the change?" Tony asked, finishing his own glass. He set it upside down on the table. "In strategy, I mean. Why join me now?"

"Well, joining you this time doesn't mean teetering off the edge of a balcony or slumming it behind a bar while music blasts out my eardrums," Steve said. "But mostly I could use a drink." Tony scrunched his eyebrows together.

"Why?" he asked. "Still upset about the last Hydra mission?"

"I guess that's a factor," Steve said. "But mostly I'm upset about getting dumped." Tony laughed. Steve just glared at him. Tony kept on laughing.

"You—_Captain America_—dumped—oh, wow, that's the best thing I've heard all day," Tony said. "Someone _dumping_ Captain America—that's hilarious, Steve." Steve frowned.

"Wasn't so funny when it happened," Steve said, taking a gulp of his second glass. Tony's laughter died off.

"What, you're serious? That dick _dumped_ you?"

"That _dick_ was my boyfriend, and he's a nice guy. And yes, he dumped me. It was my own damn fault though. I didn't really give him a choice," Steve said with a sigh. "I would've dumped me too."

"Damn," Tony said. He got up and came back with a giant bottle of vodka. "You want to get drunk, then downing that whole thing in like ten minutes is your best bet." Steve just laughed.

"No, no, I think I'm good," Steve said. "I'd rather not intentionally give myself alcohol poisoning. If I want to get high off my ass sometime I'll just talk to Bruce."

"I didn't know you knew that phrase," Tony replied. Steve rolled his eyes. He did grab the bottle, but he only poured a bit in his glass. The burn was nice. Steve sighed.

"I think I was supposed to get you to stop drinking," Steve said. "This was probably not what Clint intended."

"Oh, so Clint ratted me out this time? There are spies _everywhere_," Tony muttered.

"That's what you get for inviting spies to _live with you_," Steve pointed out. Tony shrugged. "He said somebody named Jarvis was keeping an eye on you, too."

"Have you really not met JARVIS yet?" Tony asked. Steve shook his head. "Hey, JARVIS, say hello to Steve."

"Hello Captain Rogers," spoke the disembodied voice of God, startling Steve so badly he fell off the couch. Tony howled with laughter. "You have spoken with me on limited occasion, but I have never spoken with you before."

"You're—oh! You're the invisible stereo system!" Steve said, suddenly understanding.

"I am an Artificial Intelligence, Captain Rogers. I speak through the hidden stereo system Master Stark installed all through the penthouse," JARVIS corrected.

"Your house talks, Tony," Steve said, bewildered. "This century just keeps throwing surprises at me. I never should have said what I did to Fury. It was a curse."

"My _house_ doesn't talk. JARVIS talks," Tony corrected him. "He also sees and hears, through the cameras."

"The invisible cameras," Steve said. "Is he watching us right now?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers," JARVIS replied. "I monitor all in house interactions."

"All right, Stark, I'm not going to lie, that gives me the heebie jeebies," Steve said, shuddering. It felt rather Orwellian to Steve.

"Heebie jeebies," Stark snorted. "You're a living relic, Rogers."

"Don't I fucking know it," Steve said bitterly. Tony shot him a look.

"I didn't mean it like that," Tony said. "I really didn't." Steve looked at his watch. It was five minutes past midnight. He poured himself some more vodka.

"It's my birthday today," Steve said, swirling the liquid around absently. "I'm either twenty-seven or ninety-five, depending on how you count it."

"You're born on the fourth of July? Are you fucking kidding me?" Tony asked.

"It's the terrible irony of my existence," Steve said dryly. "Captain America before I was Captain America. Not sure I _want_ to be Captain America anymore. Not sure I would have been, by the end of the war. I believe in this nation. I believe in its founding values. But I'm not sure this nation believes in its own founding values anymore. Maybe I should change my moniker. I can be Captain United Nations—how does that sound?" Steve smiled grimly. "Then again, I'm not sure I like them either. How does Nomad sound to you? Man without a country. Has a nice ring to it, I think." Steve downed some more of the vodka, wishing bitterly he could at least feel a buzz.

"I hope you're not serious," Tony said. Steve shrugged.

"Why not? I've lost everything I ever had, why not the country too? I've lost my best friend, lost my Commandos, lost my girl, lost my _home_. I lost my boyfriend. And hell, I'm probably going to lose you soon enough with all that booze you're drowning yourself in. Either your liver's going to give out or you're going to forget you don't have the suit on and fly out of a building, or you'll just be a different person by the end of it," Steve said. He shook his head. "I can't take this forever, Tony. I can't." Tony moved to sit right next to him, with only inches between them. He put a hand on his shoulder.

"Captain," he said, "you're the strongest person I've ever met. You're probably the strongest person there ever has been. You'll get through this. And hell, so that asshole dumped you—you'll find another asshole." Steve snorted.

"No, now, that's where you're wrong. Ty was a good guy. Ty was a great guy. And I pushed him away," Steve said. "I couldn't—I just couldn't commit. I couldn't tell him who I was. Who I am, who I really am, I mean. I just kept lying. He knew. I knew he knew. But I still couldn't do it."

"Well, that's new. Steve Rogers and commitment issues? There truly is no hope for the rest of us," Tony said wryly.

"He was the perfect guy, Tony," Steve said shaking his head. "And I still—I couldn't—what's _wrong_ with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, Steve," Tony said seriously. "I would argue this makes you even more human. So, congratulations on being flawed like the rest of us." Steve chuckled.

"Like the rest of us? So I'm in league with Tony Stark, then? Wow, I must really be slumming it," he said. Tony hit him on the arm.

"Rude," Tony said. They sat in silence for a minute. "So trashing this asshole isn't going to make it better, huh?"

"I told you, Tony, he's not an asshole. He's one of the nicest guys I've ever met. Saves cats from trees and everything. I'm not making that one up, either, it happened a month ago. If I'd wanted an asshole, I'd've taken up with _you_," Steve said with a snort. He rolled his eyes and looked over at Tony, only to find a dark, intense stare waiting for him. "What?"

"Would you have?" Tony asked. His voice was low, and silky.

"Would I have what?" Steve asked.

"Taken up with me. If you'd wanted an asshole," Tony clarified.

"I—uh—" Steve felt a little blindsided. Tony's closeness suddenly felt intimate, like electricity ran between the gap in their skin. He was hyper-aware of every place where their thighs almost touched, of how he could feel Tony's breath on his shoulder. "Aren't you—I thought—uh—women?"

"Most of the time," Tony said. "But, you know, it _is_ your birthday. And I am a master of distraction." Tony leaned in closer. Steve could smell the rum on his breath. He was shocked, but he didn't stop it when Tony's soft lips found his own, his goatee scratching pleasantly against his skin. Steve remembered what 'drunk' felt like. All of his senses left him for a moment—and in the next moment they came crashing back. Steve pulled away gently.

"You're drunk," Steve said.

"My drunk is your sober," Tony said. He was practically on top of him now. Steve didn't know when that had happened. "Do you want to hear me recite the alphabet backwards? Q—" Steve cut him off by pulling him into another kiss.

Maybe it was a terrible idea. Certainly it wasn't an idea with any sort of future attached. But maybe that was why Steve liked it. Maybe that was why Tony liked it. Neither of them wanted a commitment. They just wanted someone _now_.

Steve didn't stay. It would be weird if he did. Tony didn't say a thing as he put his clothes back on as the sun came up, and they didn't kiss before he left. There was no 'see you later, sweetheart' or 'call me' or 'until our date tonight'. But Tony did throw Steve's boxers at Steve's naked ass and laughed into his pillow, so Steve knew it was good. It was all good. And maybe tomorrow, they'd go for burgers.


	3. Chapter 3

_July 4__th__, 2013, 16:23_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Steve slept until noon. It was the latest he'd slept in quite a while. He would have been irked about the interruption in his sleeping pattern, were it not for the reason for said interruption.

Steve wasn't entirely convinced that it had really happened. Had he actually had sex with Tony the night before? Or, that morning, rather? He couldn't get the memory of it out of his mind. Every moment was seared in his brain in a way romantic memories never had been for him. Usually they were a haze, a fog of limbs and lips and love. But this was clear as day, ringing with life, setting Steve's every nerve on fire when he thought about it.

But had he really slept with _Tony Stark_? His teammate? Iron Man? _Howard's son_? A man simultaneously fifteen years older and fifty-two years younger than himself? Had he really slept with his best friend in this century? It had seemed like everything would be fine a few hours ago, but now Steve worried as he looked in the fridge for something to eat. What if this destroyed all the progress they'd made? What if this threw Tony into a worse drinking binge than the one he was already on? Steve shut the fridge mournfully. All he really wanted was a hamburger.

At that moment, the doorbell rang, dragging Steve away from his momentary anxiety. He opened the door, and, maybe he shouldn't have been surprised, but he _was _surprised to find Tony on the other side. Steve's stomach churned a bit. Was he here to talk? Were they going to talk about this? Talking about important things didn't really seem to be Tony's style, but what if he wanted to talk about what had happened? Steve wasn't sure he could handle that. He wouldn't know what to say. _Thanks for the birthday sex_? It seemed too ridiculous. _I appreciated the mind-blowing sex we had last night, can we just stay, what they call in this century, 'bros'?_ All right, that was even more ridiculous. Tony was dressed down for the day, wearing jeans and a t-shirt instead of his usual suit. Steve didn't know how to interpret that. Luckily for him, Tony seemed to be anticipating Steve's panic, and he spoke before Steve's brain could race any further.

"Grab your keys, let's go," Tony said.

"What?" Steve asked.

"You heard me, come on, let's go," Tony repeated.

"What—where are we going?" Steve asked, grabbing his jacket off the coat rack and his keys and wallet off the table. Tony had a funny glint in his eyes.

"It's a surprise," Tony said as Steve walked out the door.

"Oh, God, is this surprise going to land me with a punctured lung, a broken arm, and/or in jail?" Steve complained. Tony laughed.

"I think you'll be fine, so long as you don't offend Natasha by commenting her outfit. Or rather her lack of one," Tony said.

"Wh-wh-_what_?" Steve asked, completely baffled now. Tony just laughed even harder, and refused to elaborate at all as they got into his car (which was, predictably, something fancy that undoubtedly cost at least half a million dollars which Steve couldn't name) and drove away.

They drove out of New York City, and Steve was only growing more confused by the minute. He tried desperately not to focus on the idea of Natasha _lacking an outfit_—Oh, God. What had Tony _done_? Tony glanced over at him from the driver's seat. Steve knew he must look tense, and his face was probably red. Tony smirked.

"You're thinking of Romanov naked aren't you?"

"No," Steve lied.

"You're a terrible liar. I'd say we should try to arrange a threesome sometime, but frankly I can't think of anyone more terrifying to be with in bed. I mean seriously, she might stab us in our sleep," Tony said. Steve rolled his eyes.

"Forget in your sleep—you proposition her like that and she'll stab you in the face, right then and there," Steve said.

"Good point," Tony said. "Hey, do you think she and Barton are—?"

"I try not to think about the personal lives of my teammates unless it affects their work," Steve said pointedly. "I certainly don't ever think of them _naked_ until some _jerk_ puts the thought in my _head _where it takes residence and _refuses to leave_."

"I've corrupted you! It's a beautiful thing," Tony said jovially. Steve just rolled his eyes.

One rather long car ride later, and Tony pulled up in the small parking lot next to some beachfront. A sign said very strictly that this was _private property_. Steve had two guesses as to _whose_ private property, and the first didn't count. As Steve looked out at the beach, he could see that a whole party was already set up on the shore—there were bright coolers laid out, a fold-out table covered in a red, white, and blue plastic tablecloth and laden with all sorts of picnic food. A bunch of balloons were weighted down in the center of it. Music from the radio played out from an impressive set of speakers. A grill was going near the beach house, and Steve could see that Coulson was manning it. A beach volleyball net was set up, and Natasha—clad in a bikini, but thankfully clad in something, even if Steve still wasn't quite used to the new, uh, styles in swimwear—and Agent Hill were in open battle with a volleyball. Clint watched appreciatively, with a beer in hand. Even Thor was there—he had a very confused expression on his face as two women Steve didn't recognize helped him build a sand castle. And Bruce had returned from South America, it would seem, as he stood chatting with an older man Steve vaguely recognized but couldn't place. There were a few other SHIELD agents Steve didn't quite remember the names of, but overall the party was just his friends, and it was quite small.

"Happy birthday, Star Spangled Man," Tony said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Thought it would be nice if everybody celebrated the big nine-five with you."

"Tony, did you plan all this?" Steve asked. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling. There were too many feelings to pick out just one. Tony just shrugged.

"I've planned a lot of parties in my day. Frankly I think this one could use a live DJ, about fifty more people, preferably at least twenty of who live in the Playboy Mansion, several more gallons of booze, and _professional_ catering as opposed to whatever our friends have managed to bring, but this seemed more your style. Frankly, buying some vacant beachfront property and calling twenty people and demanding they bring some food with them is probably the least I've ever done for a party," Tony said. "Oh, and there are some trunks in the house if you want to swim. I didn't want to have you grab some and ruin the surprise. So—are you? Surprised?" Steve just stared for a minute.

"I—" he started, but he couldn't finish. He was too choked up for words. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "Yes, Tony. This is—this is more than perfect. Thank you." Tony grinned.

"Good," he said.

"Wait, did you say you _bought _this beach house? _Just for this_?"

"Breathe, Capsicle. You're turning purple."

"I do not understand," Thor said. "The craftsmanship put into this castle of sand is impressive, Jane. But why make a mighty fortress out of _sand_? It cannot even stand an attack of water."

"That's not the _point_, Thor, it's—oh, hello Steve—happy birthday," said one of the girls Steve didn't know. She was thin, and pretty, and decorating the impressive sand castle with shell fragments.

"Ma'am," Steve said with a respectful nod, as Thor got up, barreling towards him and clapping him in a quick, nearly painful hug.

"Steven! Brother-in-arms! I wish you a most joyous day today, on this day dedicated to the remembrance of your birth!" Thor said, releasing him from the hug. "Please! Join us in making this castle of sand! It will fall when the tide comes in, but until then it is a mighty testament to Jane and Darcy's craftsmanship! Have you met Jane and Darcy?"

"I haven't," Steve said, and Jane stood and held out a hand, which Steve shook.

"Jane Foster," she said. "I'm an astronomer. Thor and I—"

"Are courting!" Thor boomed. "And the lady Darcy is a dear friend—where is the lady Darcy?"

"Yo, I'm back," said another girl, who was much more curvy than Jane, came back, several seashell fragments in her hands. She stared at Steve for a moment. Then looked him up and down. "It might be a crime against humanity that you're not in swim trunks right now."

"_Darcy_!" Jane hissed as Steve reddened.

"What?" Darcy looked at Steve. "Oh, you're shy. That's cute."

"I would not try to court Steven, Darcy," Thor advised, chuckling all the while. "I have been told by the archer that he already has a lover."

"Oh, of course. Always taken," Darcy said with a disappointed little shrug. "So where is she?"

"I was wondering that myself," Clint said, coming over to the group. "I figured Ty would be here by now. He sick or something?" Steve scratched the back of his neck.

"Uh—no. We, uh, we're not together anymore," Steve said awkwardly.

"Oh. Sorry I asked, man," Clint said, sounding sincerely apologetic.

"There will be others," Thor said, which must have been his way of being comforting. Darcy just grinned.

"So, are you strictly into dudes, or—?" she said. Jane smacked her on the shoulder, as Clint steered Steve away from Thor's little group and up towards the grill.

"Food's pretty much ready," Clint said. "I figured you'd want to be first in line, super metabolism and all." Steve smiled.

"Thanks. Hey Phil," he greeted the agent who was manning the grill.

"Happy birthday, Captain," Coulson replied with a smile.

"It's just 'Steve', Coulson, really," Steve insisted. There were hamburgers, hotdogs, and ribs. Steve was starving, so he took one of everything and made his way to the picnic table before everyone else swarmed Coulson for food. He settled down on the beach far up from the tide, and just looked out at the sunset. It was beautiful. He'd never had occasion to sit on a beach before, and he found he rather liked it. The sand was warm from the sun, and the light glinted off the water, making it glitter and sparkle. In the evening light, even the water looked pink and purple. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he barely noticed when Tony sat down next to him.

"This is so plebian," Tony said. "I mean, paper plates?" Tony sighed in obvious exasperation. Steve just raised an eyebrow. Tony shrugged, then nodded to the sunset. "It's nice, isn't it?"

"I've never really been on a beach before," Steve admitted. "It's all really nice. I've never had a birthday party like this. I mean, my birthday was always on the fourth, so there were always parties for that which happened to coincide with my birthday but—it's never been like this. Thank you, Tony." Tony waved him off.

"Don't get all mushy on me, Captain," he said. "You know me, I like a good party, no matter the occasion." Steve hmmed. Tony pretended not to notice.

When the sun went down, they shot off fireworks (which Thor adored) and lit a bonfire. They brought out an enormous cake with sparklers on top. Steve had no idea how Tony had guessed his favorite cake flavor (red velvet with cream cheese icing, which had been dyed red, white, and blue in different tiers and had stars all over it), but Steve was very impressed. They sang him happy birthday and made cracks about walkers and frail hips. They played beach volleyball (in two highly competitive teams of eleven) until it got too cold out to stand, at which point they crashed in the beach house. If anybody noticed that Tony had crashed practically on top of Steve, nobody said anything.

_July 8__th__, 2013_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_90__th__ Precinct NYPD, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Steve felt a bit crazy, quitting his job. The only job he'd ever quit was his freelance work with Detective Comics, and that he'd only quit because he was going off to war. It felt counter-intuitive to Steve, felt wrong. But of course, he already had another job. It just wasn't quite so regular. He put the final signature on the paperwork and handed it over to Kelly, who smiled sadly.

"We're really going to miss you around here, Steve," she said. "I hope you come back to visit us sometime." Steve forced a smile.

"Maybe someday," he said, lying through his teeth. He loved everyone at the Precinct. He would love to come back. But _he'd_ made the situation with Ty unbearable. And he wasn't about to impose on his life any longer. Steve didn't have any personal items at his desk, so there was only one more thing to do now that his exit interview was done and the paperwork finalized. He made his way over to Ty's desk.

"Leaving, huh?" Ty asked as he approached. Steve nodded.

"Yeah. My schedule outside work is getting a little more…demanding. I think it's best if I leave now," Steve said. Ty watched him carefully for a moment.

"I hope this isn't just because of me," he said. "I know you like this job. Everybody here loves you." Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"There are a lot of reasons," he said. Ty just nodded.

"If you say so," he said. Ty smiled. It wasn't one of his smiles that lit up his eyes, or his face. It was a smile tinged with resignation. "So, will I ever see you again?"

"Probably not," Steve said honestly. "I think that's for the best. But, who knows. Brooklyn isn't _that_ big."

"And Williamsburg is even smaller," Ty agreed. He got up, took Steve's hand, and they hugged very briefly. "Take care of yourself."

"You too," Steve said seriously. Ty went back to his desk, and Steve started walking away, but then he stopped. "Hey Ty?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry I couldn't be who you deserved," Steve said.

"And I'm sorry I'm not who you needed," Ty replied. He smiled, then gave him a cheeky little salute and a wink. "See you in another life, Captain." Steve chuckled and gave him a little salute right back.

"Captain? Don't know what you're talking about, Officer Watson. I'm just the former sketch artist," he said. With that, Steve left the 90th Precinct, and Ty Watson, for good.

_July 12__th__, 2013, 23:45_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Stark Tower, Manhattan_

"That…I'm not sure if that's the most thrilling way I've ever traveled, or the most terrifying," Steve admitted as Iron Man touched down on the balcony, letting Steve out of the awkward side-hug. They were both rather battered from the attack of a bunch of mutant teenagers who had decided to join up and form a criminal gang. Steve found he preferred fighting giant squid—at least then he didn't have to worry about keeping it alive. Fighting defensively while also making sure his _team_ fought only defensively and keeping any _civilians_ from the scene was a nightmare. In the end, of course, they'd rounded the teens up and Fury had taken them away, muttering something about a Professor Xavier and 'special school' whatever that meant. Iron Man's faceplate lifted.

"I'd personally say thrilling," Tony said. "But maybe you should go with 'both'."

"Nearly lost the mask there a few times," Steve said, tugging the thing off. It was, and always had been, his least favorite part of the costume. He ran a hand through his hair to get that 'hat hair' look out—he hated the way sweaty hair felt when it was plastered to his skull. "First thing I'm doing when I get home is taking a hot shower. I feel disgusting. How'd I let that kid with super strength keep me on the ropes for so long?" Steve shook his head, rolling his eyes at his own incompetence, but when his gaze fell on Tony he found Iron Man—now divested of his armor thanks to the magic bots on the balcony—staring at him darkly. Uh-oh. Steve knew that look.

"Hot shower huh? Sounds good to me. But why wait until you get home? Why not just join me in mine, Captain?" Tony said, moving in closer. "Mine has to be infinitely better than yours. It has massaging jet sprays."

Steve thought about saying no. Steve thought about politely sidestepping this time, and laughing it off. He thought about bringing this into a serious discussion. He thought about all of that, and then he looked at Tony and saw the lust in his eyes, his hair swept wildly from the wind on the balcony, the surprisingly enticing sweat on his lean muscles, and decided, for the second time in his life, _fuck decorum_. He pulled Tony to him hard and captured his lips fiercely. Tony kissed back with just as much fight, just as much passion. Steve let him go and stepped away, heading inside. He threw a look over his shoulder.

"They better be some pretty amazing jet sprays."

_August 10__th__, 2013_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Burger and Barrel, SoHo_

"Stop stealing my French fries," Steve complained. "Get your own French fries." Tony crunched into one of Steve's fries, looking smug and entirely unapologetic. It had become a bit of a game for Tony—find a moment when Steve wasn't paying attention, and swipe as many fries as possible off his plate. Tony found it highly amusing. If Steve would let himself admit it, he would find it highly amusing too, but as it stood he pouted and kicked gently at Tony's feet under the table like a petulant little boy.

"_Freedom_ fries, Steve," Tony said. "Say it with me: _freedom_ fries." Steve didn't know exactly when it had happened, but he and Tony had a standing lunch date almost every day. It wasn't always burgers—Tony had introduced him to cuisine both delicious and bizarre—but that happened to be the choice of the day. Sometimes Tony had a business meeting, so Steve ate on his own. Occasionally Tony had received very important calls during lunch, but when that happened he always just turned his phone off. It made Steve weirdly happy. Once or twice, Tony had been working in the lab and lost track of time, so Steve ordered take-out for the both of them and they had lunch in the lab. Of course, they didn't just have lunch together. Steve had learned that the term was _friends with benefits_ or possibly _fuck buddies_ which sounded horribly crass and Steve shied from that description. But their more romantic interludes were happening more and more frequently, and Steve wasn't sure what to think of _that_, either. This century was just too confusing.

"That whole story was the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in the first place," he said. "And what you call them doesn't change the fact that you are richer than God and still stealing _my_ French fries." Tony shrugged.

"So I'll pay for your lunch," he said. "Big deal. See, now they're my fries too." He reached across and nabbed another. Steve rolled his eyes. He tended to do a lot of eye rolling in Tony's presence.

"You're just saying that because—" Steve cut off abruptly, distracted by an incessant flashing coming from the left. Tony took the opportunity to swipe more fries, but Steve didn't care. Outside the restaurant, crowded around the big glass windows peeking in, were a bunch of paparazzi, taking a thousand photos a minute. A very nervous looking host stood at the door, arguing with one of them, not letting them inside. Steve looked at Tony. Tony shrugged.

"Guess they found me today," he said. "Does it bother you?"

"Doesn't it bother _you_?" Steve asked.

"Steve, if I let it bother me, I would have gone crazy by seventeen," Tony pointed out. "But we can go if it's making you uncomfortable."

"It's fine," Steve said, even though it really wasn't. "I just can't believe they do this to you. We're just eating lunch."

"It's the price of celebrity, Steve," Tony said, not sounding enthused but not sounding particularly bitter, either. That was, of course, before the host got shoved aside and the paparazzi came pouring in. Steve felt half-blinded by the flashing.

"Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark! Who's your friend?"

"Tony! Are you on a date?"

"Looking pretty friendly there, Mr. Stark—care to give a statement?"

"Is this the new Pepper Potts?"

"Sworn off women, huh? Not a bad idea!"

They all spoke over each other, shouting. It felt so out of place in this small, quiet restaurant. Everyone was staring, and now the other patrons, who had thus far been fairly polite, were openly gawking and taking pictures with their cell phones. Tony got up, and Steve followed his leave.

"What, two friends can't grab a burger together?" Tony asked them wryly, as he and Steve attempted to duck out of their range and leave the restaurant. Tony slipped a bill to the host as they went out the door.

"Doesn't look like it!" one of the paparazzi shouted, and the others seemed to agree, shouting even more questions.

"How long have you been together?"

"Is it a secret romance?"

"Hey, big guy, what's your name?"

"Blondie! You a model or something?"

"Must be, with that ass!"

"Forget his ass, just _look_ at the guy—hey gorgeous, smile for the camera, would ya?"

They weren't polite and they weren't subtle. Cameras kept getting shoved in his face, and it was taking Steve's every ounce of control not to grab a camera and punch the nearest photographer. Tony got on the phone. Steve didn't know who he was calling, but he guessed it was Happy. Steve didn't know where they were walking towards, and Steve wasn't sure that Tony did, either. Tony, however, managed to look relaxed and be playful about the situation.

"He's just an artist," Tony told them. "Put a piece of his in my gallery. Wanted to meet Iron Man as part of the price." Steve nearly rolled his eyes at that, but then thought better of it. It wasn't a bad cover story, even if Tony was being his typical egotistical self.

"I've seen you together before!" one of the photographers near the back of the pack shouted.

"I happen to enjoy his opinions on Anselm Kiefer," Tony replied with an easy smile.

"I'm sure that's not the only thing you enjoy!" someone else shouted, and the paparazzi laughed. Steve's hands were clenched into fists. He knew he was giving out a death glare, but he couldn't bring himself to care. How could they be so intrusive?

"You know, I'm sure my friend here would love to discuss Kiefer with all of you, but I'm afraid we have another engagement at the moment," Tony said, and it was then that Steve noticed the limo pulling up next to the sidewalk. Steve opened the door and scrambled inside. Tony following after him, with all the paparazzi shouting.

"Wait!"

"Aw, come on, Tony!"

"Give us more than that!"

"What's his _name?_!"

The car door shut. Happy drove off. Steve let out a breath and relaxed his fingers out of a fist, one finger at a time. Tony had a guarded expression on his face. Steve shook his head.

"They do this to you all the time, don't they?" Steve asked.

"Yes, they do," Tony said. "Are you up for that?"

"What?"

"If we're going to hang out more often, Capsicle, the press will inevitably find us. I come with an unwanted entourage. They're part of the package. I'll get it, if you don't want to have lunch anymore," Tony said. His face was unreadable, but even his unreadable expressions Steve had learned to read. Steve snorted.

"Oh, get over yourself Stark. I'm not a swooning damsel. I handled the press plenty in my day—or did you forget that I was _Captain America_ on a USO tour? Granted, they weren't so pushy back then, but they were still obnoxious. I'm not about to bail on lunch with a friend just because some creeps like to follow him around," Steve said firmly. Steve could tell that Tony was trying not to look pleased, but he was failing. Steve was careful, because Happy was driving them, and certainly Happy was a perceptive person, but he reached over and gave Tony's hand a squeeze. Tony smiled and squeezed back, before they both let go. Steve's stomach did a little summersault.

"So since we didn't quite finish lunch, did you want to grab some take-out or something? I know with your metabolism…" Tony trailed off. Steve shook his head.

"Nah, I'll be fine until dinner. You busy then?" Steve asked.

"I can make room," Tony said. Steve smiled.

He was glad to have a friend as close as Tony.

_September 19__th__, 2013, 18:34_

_Location: Dubai, United Arab Emirates_

They'd gotten away. _Again_. Steve couldn't do anything but stare at the wreckage they'd made of this small corner of the city. Their weapons were operational. Steve was only glad that his shield was still a defense against them. But Steve was lucky. There were some civilians who weren't. The street wasn't just strewn with rubble, but also a fair few bodies. Steve had killed a couple of the Hydra agents himself. He hadn't entirely meant to. The heat of the fight had gotten to him. He'd punched a little harder than was necessary, a little harder than he normally would against a normal human. Steve couldn't bring himself to care. He was back in the war. Back on the field. Back in the trenches. He could hear the shouts of his men, the sound of gunfire, see dirt spraying out everywhere as a grenade touched down. How was this any different?

"We need to regroup," Steve said to the team behind him as he looked out over the street. "Stark, contact Dr. Banner, see if he can't trace the gamma signature on those weapons and get us a read on their location."

"No," said the electronic voice of Iron Man. Steve swiveled around.

"_No_?" he repeated.

"No. I will contact Banner but we're not finishing this tonight. We need to cool down," Iron Man said.

"Am I team Captain or not?" Steve challenged. "We go after them. We end this. It could be _over_. Tonight." Iron Man's faceplate lifted, revealing a grim Tony beneath.

"Are you sure it's _this_ that you're looking to finish?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" Steve snapped.

"Stark has a point, Captain Rogers," Natasha said soothingly. "We're all exhausted. If we go after them, we'll be making mistakes along the way. And you can bet so will they. If we let them go, have Bruce track the signature, let them _think _they're safe, that they've gotten away clean, then when we go in fresh, they'll be caught off guard and we'll have the advantage." Steve looked at the faces of his teammates. Even Thor looked tired. They'd been raiding various hideouts all over the city and trying to find their main base for the past two days. They hadn't stopped for sleep, and the only food they'd gotten was whatever they could eat on the run. He had to admit, Natasha had a point. Steve nodded.

"Yeah. Fine," he said.

"Great. I know just the place where we can rest up. Have I ever shown you Stark Mansion – Dubai?" Tony said.

An hour later, they were all well and settled at Tony's mansion. Steve sat on the edge of the pool, his legs in the warm water. He wondered when _this_ had become his life—this jetting off to parts unknown to fight baddies with goals he didn't understand and taking a break in a billionaire's mansion. It all seemed so far-fetched. But then again, his life in general had seemed rather far-fetched the minute he volunteered for Project Rebirth. Steve sighed heavily. He wouldn't trade it. He wouldn't trade it for anything, wouldn't reverse any of his decisions. But he still wasn't sure about the road he had ended up on.

"Penny for your thoughts, Rogers?" Tony asked, sitting down next to him. Steve chuckled.

"Aren't you a billionaire? Can't I at least get a dollar?" Steve teased. Tony smiled, but then his expression turned serious again.

"Are you okay, Steve?" Tony asked. Steve shrugged.

"Why wouldn't I be? This isn't anything we haven't handled before," he said.

"I've never seen you hit that hard if you didn't have to," Tony said quietly.

"You implying something?" Steve asked in a warning tone.

"I'm implying that I'm worried about you," Tony said. He put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Steve, you punched out that one agent in the face so hard his neck snapped."

"He had a gun on that woman—"

"You don't have to defend yourself to me, Steve, I'm not accusing you of anything," Tony said. "I'm just concerned."

"I must be in bad shape if I have _Tony Stark_ worrying after me," Steve said dryly. Tony didn't even blink, let alone loose a chuckle.

"Yeah. I think you might be," Tony replied. Steve looked up at the sky, at the dying light and the pink of sunset. It reminded him of that day on the beach, except this time everything felt wrong.

"It's the same war, Tony," Steve said, frustrated. "Almost seventy years later, and I'm fighting the same damn war. Only this time, we can't figure out where the bad guys are coming from. They're not confined to any geographic area, not limited to any demographic, either. Hell, we're not even sure what they're planning or what they want. When I left, we were closing in, about to finish off a long battle. But now I feel like I've been thrown back at the start. Worse than that, maybe. I just want it to be over." They sat in silence for a minute. Steve listened to Tony splashing his feet in the water, listened to the easy sounds of the night, and the sirens in the distance. There were always sirens.

"Did I ever tell you why I first started as Iron Man?" Tony asked.

"You were in a cave…it said in your file," Steve said. Tony shook his head.

"Ok, yeah, that. Busting out of captivity was the _first_ time. But I came back, made a much more efficient suit—not to mention much more handsome, I mean, I should show you the plans for the Mach I sometime. It's beautiful in its own way, and it will always be my baby, but…anyway, the first time I used the suit was to blow up weapons in Gulmira. It's this tiny village… the weapons were Stark Industries weapons. Same as the weapons the Ten Rings had when I was in captivity. Made it easier to build the Mach I, I knew exactly what I was working with because they were _mine_. My weapons. Weapons that _I_ designed, being used not just for the defense of this country, but for the reckless destruction of others, for terrorist groups," Tony said. Steve stared, shocked.

"How could that happen?" he asked.

"Two parts negligence on my end and one part deception on that of Obadiah Stane. He was my second in command. The one who ordered the hit on me that got me kidnapped by the Ten Rings, the one who tried to kill me later by pulling this," Tony tapped on the arc reactor in his chest, "right out. The one who locked me out of the board. But a lot of it was my fault. I should have been paying better attention. I was too busy wasting my life to realize what was going on with my own company. It was my fault those weapons were where they shouldn't have been. And I made it my mission to destroy them all. I still don't know where they are. They're all over, in different countries, with different groups. I'd say they're impossible to find but, come on, I'm Tony Stark. Sure is a pain in the ass though. And I'll never be done with this fight. There will always be one more damn weapon with my name on it turning up where it shouldn't be. And forget the weapons that are where they shouldn't be—there are weapons with my name on them with the US military, too, and I don't always agree with where they end up. It will never be over. I'll always be fighting this fight. But the thing is, Captain—I can't let it get to me. Because when I do, I end up at the bottom of a bottle, and then I'm no help to anyone at all," Tony finished.

Steve had nothing to say to that, so he just sat there, listening to his and Tony's breathing, and the gentle _swish swish swish_ of the water moving back and forth from the movement of their feet. He laid back against the concrete, then grabbed Tony's hand and tugged him down. Tony obediently joined him, and the two stared up at the dark sky, hands linked, just listening to the near-silence of the night.

_September 20__th__, 2013, 14:30_

_Location: Somewhere over the Atlantic_

_SHIELD Jet_

"So are you two fucking, or what?" Clint asked as they buckled in, preparing for more turbulence. Banner had been unable to locate the Hydra agents using the gamma signature, so it was back to square one until they could get more reliable intelligence. "Because if not, I'm really confused about that whole hand holding thing I saw yesterday." Steve's face was bright red, he knew. He could feel it.

"How about you and Romanov, Barton? Want to discuss that?" Tony shot back.

"Point taken," Clint said. Then he smirked. "So, you're fucking, then."

"Mind your own business, Barton," said Tony.

_November 28__th__, 2013, 12:15_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Stark Tower – Penthouse, Manhattan_

Steve hadn't thought that any of the Avengers would really be Thanksgiving people. By that, he meant, they all seemed like quite independent people who didn't have time for trivial things like sitting down to a home cooked feast and watching football, or whatever it was that they did in this century. Yet Steve had been mistaken. Clint had brought up Thanksgiving, and Tony had said that he, of course, had already done all the planning. Bruce had insisted that it all be home cooked, not _catered_, and Natasha had said she would be bringing a couple of Russian recipes to the table herself, which had shocked Steve. He couldn't imagine Natasha doing such a banal, ordinary thing as cooking. The thought was almost hilarious. Clint had insisted that he could make a mean turkey, and Steve decided to contribute his pie making skills (to the immense amusement of Tony).

So on November 28, they all gathered around the table to eat. Even Thor had made it for the occasion, bringing Jane with him. Natasha, Clint, Maria, Phil, Bruce, Pepper, Happy, and Tony were all also in attendance. Steve was genuinely surprised to see Pepper, who he hadn't seen since her split with Tony. He was glad she was there; he didn't think she'd even been in New York since it happened. Steve was more than happy to strike up a conversation with her about the latest addition to Tony's art collection (which was, of course, more Pepper's than Tony's, and they all knew it). She sat beside him at the table, and Tony sat on his other side. When everyone was seated, they all went quiet. It took Steve a moment to realize that they were all looking at him.

"Am I—do I say something?" Steve asked, looking around.

"You're the leader, Captain," Tony said. "Making speeches is what you _do_ isn't it?"

"Uh, well, all right then. Um. Well, if this was two years ago—by my count, anyway—I'd be sitting with the boys, not far from the front, eating rations out of a tin and swapping stories of our best Thanksgivings. We were close. We were brothers. We were family. Howard showed up halfway through with a turkey. God only knows how much he paid for it and where he got it from, but I don't think I've ever seen men quite so happy. It was war, but it was still a pretty good Thanksgiving, since we'd just got most of the 107th back. If this was last year, I'd be sitting on my own, eating leftovers. I thought I'd lost everything, and I had. I thought it would go on like that forever—but it didn't. Because Thanksgiving this year, I'm once again sitting with my friends, my brothers and sisters, the only family I have. I lost my family, sure. I lost my home. But I gained one, too. And so that is what I'm thankful for. I'm thankful for all of you. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone," Steve said. "Your turn, Tony."

"Jesus, Cap, I can't follow that!" Tony complained, and everyone laughed. Tony ended up saying he was thankful for Steve's pie-making capabilities because they looked and smelled delicious and _could they eat yet_? Bruce said (sarcastically, or so they presumed) that he was grateful for yoga and weed. Jane said she was thankful for all of them and the work that they did; Thor was thankful for Jane. Natasha was thankful for S.H.I.E.L.D., and Clint was thankful to have food on the table. Phil was thankful for EMTs, and Maria was thankful for the banning of Galaga on S.H.I.E.L.D. computers. Happy was thankful that his boss wasn't dead yet and thus his job was secure, and Pepper was thankful for Steve, but did not elaborate, for which Steve was grateful. He didn't know if she was thankful to him for picking Tony up and at least temporarily stalling his alcoholic fits, or if she was grateful for helping Tony move on from her, which he wasn't certain that he had yet accomplished.

Thor grabbed a turkey leg and just chowed down, to the amusement of everyone at the table. Clint and Tony got into a verbal battle over who was going to win the football game that day. Pepper and Happy seemed pretty close. Phil had a Captain America fan moment and asked Steve more about that particular Thanksgiving, which Steve was happy to tell him about, along with a few battle tales that were highly amusing but got left out of the newsreels. Phil was delighted. Everyone agreed that Steve's pies were heaven on earth. Even Thor said they were so delicious he didn't think their equal could be found even in Valhalla. Steve blushed at that.

At the end of it, after they'd eaten, watched the game, and the sun began to go down, everyone started heading home. Even Natasha and Clint disappeared to their respective areas of Stark Tower (or at least one of their respective areas). Nobody commented on Steve's leaving last—or rather, his not leaving at all.

They had fun. They always had fun. It felt particularly personal that evening, although maybe it was just the nostalgia of the holiday getting to Steve. When they were done with their fun, they laid together for a while until Steve finally kissed the back of Tony's neck and sat up on the bed, swinging his legs over the side and looking for his clothes. Tony turned over towards him and gently grabbed his wrist. Steve looked down at him, at those ever-intense dark eyes.

"You don't have to go just yet. If you don't want to," Tony said. Steve froze in slight panic. What did this mean? Did Tony want him to stay? Did Tony want him to stay the night, or just for a little longer? Did friends with benefits cuddle? There were too many new social rules to navigate and Steve didn't have the slightest clue how to do it. He knew he was going to trip and fall to one side or the other sooner or later. Tony seemed to be intent on making that trip happen now. Tony let go of his wrist, and it looked like he was about to say something, but Steve moved. He swung his legs back into the bed, curling up under the covers again and snuggling close to Tony.

"This bed is so much better than mine," Steve said. Tony laughed. Steve could breathe again.

_December 12__th__, 2013, 10:15_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Stark Tower – Lab, Manhattan_

Steve had stayed that night in November, and he'd stayed many nights since. He always went home to Brooklyn in the morning, but he wasn't afraid to sleep in Tony's bed anymore. Tony had yet to stay at Steve's apartment, however, despite the team's continued movie nights. Steve didn't know what that meant. He wasn't sure it meant anything. He didn't want to think about the complexities of his and Tony's relationship, but that was nearly impossible when he was drawing said man. He sketched as Tony worked, soldering and smoothing. Tony of course did all the work on Iron Man himself, and Steve found the process mesmerizing. He loved to watch Tony, in sweats and a tank top, working on the metal, or even just staring at some new plans, the gears in that incomprehensible brain of his turning at a speed Steve couldn't quite understand.

Tony was himself a work of art, all lean lines and dark hair and quirky expressions. He was a handsome man, not just for his age, but in general. Steve could draw him all day. But it was more than that. There was a spark in Tony—that intelligence, that wit, that strength—that made him fascinating. But what fascinated Steve more was the heart that he had deeply misunderstood. Tony cared about everything more than he let on, and Steve would do well never to forget that.

Steve would happily watch Tony all day, but not when the option to touch him was in the picture. So once his drawing was done, Steve put the sketchbook down on the couch beside him and got up. He crossed to where Tony sat, staring at a computer screen, and wrapped his arms around his waist. He nuzzled his neck and kissed him there. He felt Tony stiffen for a moment.

"Well this is different," Tony said, sounding guarded. Steve let go and gave him a bit of space.

"Sorry," Steve apologized. "I know you're working, I just…" Actually, Steve had no idea what had come over him. It wasn't lust, he knew that. He didn't have any particular desire at the moment to have his way with Tony (although that option was always on the table and sounded better and better the more he thought about it). He'd just wanted to be close to him. And _that_ panicked Steve more than a little.

"Oh, no I didn't mean go away," Tony said, turning around to look at him. He had an odd expression on his face that Steve couldn't quite place. "I just…you don't ever really…" Tony gestured vaguely, but Steve didn't understand.

"I don't ever really what?" Steve asked, baffled. Tony smirked.

"Well, you don't ever really proposition me, Captain," he said. Steve thought about it for a minute. He supposed that he never did. It was Tony, always Tony, reaching for him. Not the other way around.

"Oh," Steve said. "I guess I don't. That wasn't what I meant though, I just wanted to…uh, never mind. Sorry to interrupt. I finished that sketch. I think I'll head out, I've got…laundry to do." It was a lame excuse and he knew it. He winced internally. Tony frowned but didn't say anything.

"Ok," Tony said. "See you later, Cap."

"Bye Tony," Steve said. He grabbed his sketchbook and practically flew from the building, his face burning and his heart racing.

What had just happened?

_January 15__th__, 2014, 19:15_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_McCauley's Irish Pub_

"Rhodey! It's so good to see you," Steve said as Rhodey walked in. Steve stood up from the table and shook Rhodey's hand, clapping him on the shoulder as Rhodey did the same.

"It's great to see you too, Rogers," Rhodey said with a smile. They both sat down.

"Good to be back?" Steve asked.

"Oh hell yes," Rhodey said. "Can't tell you how sick of sand I am. New York treating you any better?"

"No, I think I'm treating New York better," Steve said with a slight smile. It was a statement that felt more true everyday. Sure, New York had changed. But now he was more willing to give it a chance. It wasn't all bad. Though the fact that there were apartments on Ebbets Field and the Dodgers were in LA still irked him whenever he had to walk past the area. Rhodey smiled.

"Glad to hear it," he said. There was a pause. It was a slightly awkward pause. Steve was happy to see Rhodey, of course, but he was more than surprised to get a call from him asking to meet up, just two days after Rhodey returned. Steve enjoyed Rhodey's company, but they hadn't ever hung out together alone before, at least not for a substantial amount of time. Rhodey didn't seem about to spit it out though.

"So, anything in particular you wanted to talk about?" Steve prompted. Rhodey looked suddenly uncomfortable, though he still met Steve's eyes and held his ground.

"Yeah, uh, there is. Uh, well, I know about you and Tony," Rhodey said.

"I figured you did. Tony can't keep his mouth shut when he knows he doesn't have to," Steve said, rolling his eyes. Rhodey smirked.

"Well, you've got that right," he said, but then his expression grew uncomfortable again. "Look, I know you don't mean anything by this. I mean, I'm frankly kind of surprised a guy like you was up for something like this in the first place, but I know you're a good guy, and I know you don't mean any harm. I know you've done a lot for Tony—Pepper's told me he's mostly stopped bingeing on alcohol, and that's no easy feat to accomplish with Tony. She says he mostly stopped the partying, too. I don't think Tony's told her what's going on but I know that she's guessed. Or she's sort of guessed. She thinks you two are together and you're just not comfortable saying it yet." Rhodey gave him a hard, searching look. "But we both know that's not exactly what's going on, is it?"

It was Steve's turn to be uncomfortable. Rhodey made him feel like what they were doing was _wrong_. Was it? It just seemed like one new crazy thing to add to this century, but he'd never thought of his relationship with Tony as _wrong_ before. Weird, sure. Unconventional, yes. Difficult to navigate, _hell_ yes. But never _wrong_. There were too many things about himself that he'd always been told were wrong for him to prescribe too much to what his Catholic 1940s sensibilities told him. But if _Rhodey_ thought it was wrong—could he be right?

"No, not exactly," Steve agreed. Rhodey nodded, looking contemplative and troubled.

"Listen, Steve, I know you're a good man, so I'll just come out with it; I don't think this thing you've got going with Tony is a good thing. For either of you. Tony took the split with Pepper real hard. I know you know that. I know you were there for him. You saw first hand what it did to him. Tony doesn't have many people he considers friends, Steve. He _needs _people he can consider friends. You know that, too. I know you recently got out of a relationship with a serious boyfriend, too, and I know you're not looking to commit to anyone. And that's fine. Tony's not looking for commitment either. He's never looking for commitment. But I think the problem, Steve, is that Tony _needs_ commitment. He needs stability. That's something you can offer him as a friend. It's not something you have with him right now. And I think you both have put yourselves in a situation in which you have the power to damage each other. Badly. And I'm very concerned for the both of you. But especially for Tony," Rhodey said. He took a deep breath, and waited for Steve's reaction.

Steve, for his part, wasn't sure how to react. The gears in his brain were spinning like crazy. His and Tony's relationship had thus far been very…_relaxed_. Sort of. It was a fine line to walk, but they'd always managed to make it an easy thing. But what if Rhodey was right? What if it was entirely unhealthy? What happened when one of them _did_ start to look for commitment? What would happen when Tony got a girlfriend? The thought made Steve sick to his stomach. And what about Steve? What would happen if _he_ wanted a girlfriend or a boyfriend with whom he might have a future? Did he want to do this crazy dance with Tony forever? How long could they keep this up for? Why hadn't they thought this _through?_

"You okay there, Rogers?" Rhodey asked after a moment.

"Yeah," Steve said. "Yeah, I just…so you're asking me to stop seeing Tony?"

"No, Steve," Rhodey said. "I'm asking you to stop fucking with him."

_January 16__th__, 2014, 20:40_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Stark Tower – Penthouse, Manhattan_

Steve was sprawled on the couch, sketching again. Tony sat in an armchair nearby, typing into his tablet. Steve had asked him what he was designing, but hadn't really understood when Tony'd rattled off his extremely technical description. Steve understood that whatever it was, it was an engine. For something. It was getting late, nearly nine now. Tony glanced over at him.

"You staying the night?" he asked. Steve looked out the window. It was dark. It was undoubtedly freezing outside. It would be so much easier to stay, to curl up next to Tony on a warm bed, than it would be to ride his motorcycle all the way back to Brooklyn with the wind stinging his face. It would be easier, but easier certainly didn't make it right.

"No, actually, I should probably get going," Steve said, closing his sketchbook.

"It's freezing out," Tony pointed out.

"Yeah, I know. Better to get it over with quick," Steve replied.

"What better things have you got to do?" Tony asked, looking puzzled. "It's not like you have a job to get to in the morning."

"I know, it's just…I've got stuff. I'll see you later, Tony," Steve said. Tony's expression closed off.

"Fine, see you later Capsicle. Unless you freeze out there. Again," he said. Steve frowned but he didn't comment. He just left instead, feeling weird about it. How had he made such a mess of things?

_December 20__th__, 1943, 17:32_

_Location: London, England_

_Crocker's Folly, Maida Vale_

"I heard you got shot at yesterday," Bucky said as he returned to the table with their beers, tossing one to Steve. He looked highly entertained by the thought, and Steve blushed. "Care to tell the story?"

"I—well—it started with—see, there was this _dame_, a nice, attractive dame, I admit, and she sort of, well, she kissed me, and, well, I mean, I wasn't exactly pushing her away, and then Peggy comes up and she _completely_ misunderstands, and I—well, I thought that maybe _Stark_ was her friend, the way they were talking, and I as good as said so, and _then_ she shot at me," Steve explained in a rush. Bucky howled with laughter. "It's not _funny_."

"No, it's not funny, it's _hilarious_," Bucky said. "Steve, you're so hopeless. You're clueless." Steve groaned, putting his head in his hand.

"Don't I know it," he said. "I don't think I'm ever going to be any good at this." Bucky chuckled, then took a long drink of his beer. He patted Steve on the back.

"Well, you're never going to be Howard Stark, that's for sure," Bucky said, "but I think one day you'll get the hang of it."

"A hundred _years_ from now."

Bucky laughed.

_January 20__th__, 2014, 03:41_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Triskelion, Manhattan_

"So what did you find?" Steve asked. It was unusual, for them all to be present at a briefing, unless they were about to go on a mission, but Fury had specified plain clothes only. Even Thor was there, called in from Asgard, and Bruce, who didn't get called in that often at all—his skill set was pretty specific, after all, and only useful in _non_covert ops.

"A new facility," Clint said. "Same as all the others. But a couple of things got left behind. One or two weapons, a uniform, some scraps of paper—and this." Clint put a small golden medallion in the center of the table. Thor straightened.

"I know this token," he said. "This belongs to Loki."

"Isn't he in some kind of Asgardian prison?" Tony asked. "He _is_ in some kind of Asgardian prison, right? Because we _kind of_ spent a great deal of energy last summer putting him away, and he _kind of_ broke New York and massacred a few thousand innocent people."

"My brother is secure. The AllFather himself has locked him away. But he is permitted visitors," Thor said, striding forward and picking up the medallion, examining it in the light.

"What does it do?" Steve asked. Thor shook his head.

"That is what I do not understand. It does not _do_ anything," he said.

"Why would Hydra have it then?" Tony asked.

"They're obsessed with mythology," Steve answered. "And with good reason. The red skull successfully hunted down the tesseract by studying mythology. Any chance Loki just left that on earth on his last visit and Hydra picked it up out of interest?" Thor looked deeply troubled.

"I do not know. I will have words with the AllFather on this matter. And words with Loki," he said. Steve shook his head.

"Speak with your father if you think he can help," he said, "but not with Loki. If this has anything to do with him, we don't want him to know that we know."

"I think he already might," Natasha said. "They hardly ever leave anything behind. The place was _mostly_ cleaned out. Yet they left _this_ behind? If they're obsessed with Norse mythology, why would they forget it? I think they might have left it behind deliberately."

"But _why_?" Tony asked.

"Too many questions. We need some answers," Nick Fury said. "Banner I want you trying to trace those weapons again. Stark, assist him if you can. Rogers, Romanov, Barton—how do you feel about Istanbul?"

"Just as long as it's not Budapest, I'm game," Clint answered dryly.

_February 3__rd__, 2014, 14:15_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Stark Tower - Lab, Manhattan_

"Please tell me the past two weeks have been better for you than they've been for me," Steve said as he entered Tony's lab. Tony was working on the engine of a motorbike. Steve knew he did that when he was thinking about other things, which Steve found baffling. When _he_ was working on his bike's engine, he couldn't concentrate on anything else, but for _Tony_ it was like playing with legos. The man was amazing. Tony looked up and gave him a lazy smile as Steve leaned against a nearby workbench and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Oh, Steve, I'm glad you're back," he said. "And—_possibly_. I've been working on some of those weapons you found, and I found a microchip in one, which, if I can pull some metadata from it, I _might_ be able to track a location or a person in connection with it. We'll see. The chip was pretty heavily damaged, but I'm working on it. Why, what happened in Istanbul?"

"Istanbul turned into Budapest," Steve grumbled. Tony raised an eyebrow, questioning but Steve shook his head. "Don't ask. We ran into some trouble, that's all. Didn't find much, either. No more mysterious medallions—hell, couldn't even grab more weapons. I've never been so unsuccessful in missions before. We always got our man, before." Tony put down the cylinder he was cleaning and wiped his hands on the cloth. Black streaks of grease came off, but Tony's hands were still dirty.

"Well, this time, we don't know who the man is," Tony pointed out. "We'll catch them, Cap. It's just a matter of time." Steve sighed.

"Yeah," he said. Tony had a good point. But it was the whole _time_ thing that was annoying Steve. It was all taking too long. There was too much that was unresolved in his life, and he wanted it all to be _fixed_. Tony got up from his chair and walked over to Steve. He put his hands on Steve's hips, and Steve obediently leaned down to kiss the other man.

"_Three_ weeks," Tony groaned into his lips, pulling his hips even closer. Steve choked back a moan.

"Is that a long time?" he asked between kisses.

"For me? Hell _yes_," Tony said, breaking off their little make-out session and tugging Steve towards the couch.

_Stop fucking with him_. Steve could hear Rhodey's voice in his head as Tony pushed him onto the couch, his hands running up Steve's thighs. This was one of those unresolved things. This was a complication that Steve didn't understand. But this time, he wouldn't stop it. He didn't want to lose those hands, those lips, or that brilliant brain, that hidden heart. He didn't want to let go of Tony. So, consequences be damned, he didn't.

_February 14__th__, 2014, 08:13_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Triskelion, Manhattan_

Steve couldn't stop looking at Tony. He watched his hands, tough from manual work, but so dexterous from the more delicate work with circuitry, as they tapped impatiently on the table. Tony was anxious. He'd _been_ anxious since three that morning when JARVIS finally announced that recovery of the data on the microchip was complete. He'd jumped out of bed, grabbed a robe off the back of the door and run to the lab. Steve hadn't followed him, and Tony hadn't come back for a few hours, at which point he directed Steve to get dressed and call the Avengers to assemble.

Steve could hardly focus. He was too distracted. He'd realized the other day that he and Tony had been together without being _together_ for seven months. Considering their situation, they weren't keeping to anniversaries, and the realization had stunned him. He'd only been with Ty for four. He wondered what that meant. Did it mean that Steve did better with a lack of commitment? It didn't feel right. Steve still wanted to get married, have kids, live as normal a life alongside this Avengers business as he could. But where did this thing with Tony fit into the picture? He didn't want to call it off. He didn't want to stop being with Tony. So where did that leave him?

And where did that leave him when _Tony_ decided he wanted to stop being with _Steve_? Steve was very grateful when Thor arrived, completing their group, and Tony began to talk. It could keep his mind off this problem for just a little while.

"All right, so, I traced the microchip back to its maker. It's a weapons dealer in Canada. I know, Canada, right? Who even knew they _had_ weapons? Anyway, from there, considering the amount of weapons that have been ordered, either over time or all at once, and the very exact specifications they would have to have in order to have the affect that they do, I've narrowed down the buyer to three individuals," Tony said. He pressed something on his phone, turning on the television screen in the conference room. Three photos and profiles appeared. There were two men and one woman. The men were older—one had salt-and-pepper hair and looked like the years had been kind to him. The other was older and had a hard expression that appeared quite permanent. He looked like he might be former military, Steve guessed, whereas the salt-and-pepper guy looked more bourgeois—more like Tony, really, if Tony had a terribly long nose and a perpetually snobby expression. The woman reminded Steve of Natasha, if Natasha were in her forties and actually lived up to the 'widow' part of her name—beautiful and deadly.

"It could be any one of them, or it could be _all three_. I don't know. I'm not a super spy. What I _do_ know is that those crazy weapons have to be bought by at least one of them. And they're definitely coming out of that factory in Canada," Tony finished. He looked to Steve. "So what's our move, Captain?"

They were all looking to him. At some moments, it seemed utterly absurd that he had this whole team looking to him for direction. Before 1943, which was just three years ago for him, no one had looked up to him for anything. No one had figured he'd be capable of leading men (or women) into battle. Yet now they looked to him by default. The mantle of leadership felt comfortable to Steve. He was more than capable of it. Yet sometimes, it still felt ridiculous.

"We don't let on that we have useful information," Steve said. "We position S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to watch every shipment going out of that factory and follow them. As to these three…Natasha, what do you think our best shot is at assessing which ones are threats?" Natasha glanced up at the screen, scanning their faces.

"They're all threats. Our best shot at figuring out what Hydra wants would be to infiltrate their inner circles," Natasha said. Her gaze flicked to Tony. "Glitzy parties—fancy booze, paid women, 'respectable' guests. Wine them and dine them." Steve nodded, sighing.

"That sort of thing's going to take time," he said.

"Yes, Captain. It is," Natasha said.

"All right. On a long mission we go. I'm not good at undercover work. It's not really my style. Natasha, Clint, I trust you've got this one?" Steve asked. They both nodded curtly. "Thor, have you gotten any more information from your sources."

"Alas, no," Thor said, frowning deeply. "The medallion's significance has yet to be uncovered. I will continue the search, of course." Steve nodded.

"You do what you can," he said. "I think for now, the mission's in Natasha and Clint's hands."

"Just like Budapest," Clint muttered.

"What the _hell_ happened in _Budapest_?" Tony asked, but the group was already breaking up, and Clint and Natasha just gave him exasperated looks.

"Don't ask," Clint said.

_February 14__th__, 2014, 12:21_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Triskelion, Manhattan_

Steve sat at the desk, going through profiles of different SHIELD agents. They hadn't ever had to use agents on Avengers business before, but it really didn't make sense for Steve and Tony and Bruce to sit outside a factory and follow shipments. He flipped from one file to the next. They were all qualified, all seemed capable. Files weren't going to help him pick a small team—he'd have to conduct interviews, and quickly. Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and looked out the window. Who knew part of being the Captain of the Avengers was an office job?

"Clint and I are packed and ready to go. We leave at fourteen hundred hours," Natasha told him, walking up to his desk.

"Ok, Nat, sounds good. Do you need anything from me before you go?" Steve asked. Natasha shook her head, but she continued to look at him. She folded her arms. "What?"

"Something's bugging you. Has been for a while now. Feel like getting anything off your chest, Captain?" she asked. Steve gave her a strained smile.

"Not in particular," he said. Natasha raised one elegant eyebrow.

"So nothing is going on with you and Stark?" she asked.

"We've been about as subtle as a grenade, haven't we? You know, the whole _team _knows, hell, probably all of _SHIELD_ knows there's something going on," Steve said.

"Oh, I'm not talking about that," Natasha said. She sat on the edge of his desk and stared down at him, her eyes boring into his. "_You_ know what I'm talking about. You've been acting off for a month now. _Something_ is going on." Steve couldn't help but fidget in his chair a little.

"It's nothing," he said. Natasha raised her other eyebrow. "Do you really want to talk about this?"

"I really want to help you through whatever it is that has you so distracted," Natasha clarified. Well, she was always honest. Steve appreciated that. He leaned back.

"Rhodey asked me to stop having sex with Tony," Steve said. "He basically said it's not a healthy relationship—because it _isn't_ a relationship, and it isn't stable." Steve shrugged. "He's right. Can't argue with that."

"But?" Natasha prompted. Steve fidgeted a little more. He could, of course, just not tell her, but knowing Natasha, she'd have it out of him one way or another, and it was usually best to give her information voluntarily.

"But I don't want to. I mean, he's completely right. I still want all the same things I did before. That hasn't changed. But I…I want _Tony_," Steve said.

"Are you in love with him?" Natasha asked.

"I—I mean…I…" Steve knew the answer. But he didn't want to tell Natasha. He couldn't tell Natasha before he could face up to it himself, and he definitely couldn't tell Natasha before he told Tony. "Pass?" Natasha just nodded, her blue eyes thoughtful.

"From friends to sex to love," she said. "That's pretty normal, Steve. So what's the issue? Why don't you just tell Stark and get it over and done with?"

"Because it's not that _simple_," Steve said. "You _know_ it's not."

"Of course. You're afraid that he won't reciprocate. But I didn't know Captain America could be cowardly about anything," Natasha challenged. Steve shook his head.

"It's not—that's not it, Natasha," Steve said. "I mean, yes, that factors in. I could tell him and he could laugh in my face, and frankly that would be...awful. It would be awful. It could ruin our friendship, make things awkward, and then I wouldn't have him _at all_. Sure, that factors in. But Natasha, if things went badly, if Tony doesn't feel the same—which I really don't think he does—if it makes things _awkward_, if we're not friends anymore—Natasha, what do you think that would do to him? First Pepper, and then that? I haven't magically cured his alcohol habit. He still drinks. I put him away after. It's just not as _public_ as it was before, and it's not as frequent. But what do you think would happen if things with us went very south very fast?" Steve sighed and shook his head. "I can't do that to him." Natasha's careful gaze never wavered, never left him.

"And what if you're wrong and things go the other way?" she asked. Steve felt himself tense, but he wasn't entirely sure why. Wouldn't that be perfect? Wasn't that what he wanted? Steve heard a crack—he loosened his hold on the computer's mouse, the side of which was now collapsed inwards.

"I…" was all Steve managed to say. Natasha smirked.

"You might be the bravest man on the battlefield I've ever seen, Steve Rogers, but you are a complete chicken in this department. I think you need to figure out what you really want, and do it fast—no one needs your head in the clouds when we're working on important operations, Captain," she said. She stood up, sliding off his desk, and walked away, leaving Steve feeling thoroughly scolded. He stared at the computer screen, not really looking at the file that was still up.

What _did_ he want? Well, he wanted Tony. He was pretty sure he…had _feelings_ for Tony. Deep feelings. Possibly feelings that began with 'L' and rhymed with dove. But even if Tony also had feelings for him that began with 'L' and rhymed with glove, what then? They couldn't want the same things. Steve wanted a family. He wanted kids, wanted a quiet house in Brooklyn, wanted a committed relationship—a _lifelong_ relationship. Steve wanted marriage. He wanted the whole thing, white picket fence and all—and there was no way in hell that aligned with Tony's vision of the future. Steve was pretty sure that hell would freeze over before Tony agreed to stay in Brooklyn for more than a few hours at a time (he still had yet to stay over at Steve's apartment for even one night), and Loki would rule on Asgard before Tony ever had _children_. Steve stared mournfully at the broken mouse.

He wanted something impossible. The question was—which dream was he willing to give up? The white picket fence, with its marriage and its children and its normal, everyday American home, or Tony?

Steve shook himself, clicking on to the next SHIELD personnel file. It didn't matter anyway. Tony couldn't feel the same way about him. That wasn't why they'd started all this. Steve was an escape. Steve was a substitute to alcohol. _That_ thought turned his stomach. Ok, maybe he was more than that. He was also a friend, a _very good_ friend. But, as a very good friend, didn't Tony deserve to know the way Steve felt about him?

Steve bit back an audible groan as he rested his head on the desk, wishing he could just bash his head in right there. It was going to be a long day.

_February 21__st__, 2014, 12:12_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Stark Tower – Offices_, _Manhattan_

It was strange, being in the office building part of Stark Tower. Steve generally forgot there were offices in the building at all; he'd come to think of the entire thing as Tony's house, as absurd as that notion was. It felt odd, having to actually check in at the front desk and obtain a visitor's pass that would let him onto the twelfth floor. It felt even weirder to walk into an area of the building he'd never been in before, only to discover cubicles filled with Stark Industries employees he'd never met who all worked in this building day in and day out for Tony, a man that most of them had probably only ever seen on television. That last bit was just a guess, anyway, based on the fact that ninety percent of the floor was currently staring at the back right corner, where Tony sat on the desk of some flustered looking young woman, flirting like there was no tomorrow. Steve headed over.

"Tony," Steve called out. Tony looked up and grinned.

"Steve! Finally. You take the subway? I've been waiting here for an age. I think some hairs went gray," he said. The young woman, a petite brunette with gently curled hair, giggled.

"I took the bike, actually. Traffic is terrible. Mind telling me what we're doing in the office?" Steve asked.

"Right! Well, Miss—I'm sorry, sweetheart, what's your name again?" Tony asked, putting on his most apologetic smile.

"Rebecca," the young woman replied. "Rebecca Masters."

"Right. Miss _Masters_ here just finished her graduate—"

"_Under_graduate."

"—_undergraduate_ degree in ancient mythology from—where was it, Brown?"

"Yes, Brown."

"Brown. Impressive," Steve said, and when the girl looked away briefly, blushing, Steve raised an eyebrow at Tony. Tony gave him a look of pure innocence. "So, Tony, what are we doing in the office?"

"Well, you know that lovely medallion Peggy got you for your birthday last year? The one with that serpent on it?" Tony asked. It only took Steve half a second to catch on. He nodded.

"Of course," he said. "I still haven't figured out what to do with it, exactly, but it's quite artistic."

"Well, Miss Masters here thinks it might be more than just artistic," Tony said. He flashed yet another charming smile to the young girl, who couldn't have been older than twenty-two. Then again, Steve thought, that was only five years younger than himself. "Why don't you tell Steve here what you told me, gorgeous?"

"Ok, well, that serpent is Jormungandr, one of Loki's children—"

"Loki's _children_?" Steve repeated, disbelieving.

"Well, yes," Rebecca said. "Loki has several children—father to most, mother to one. It's mythology, you kind of just have to go with it. Anyway, Jormungandr is a great serpent who was tossed into the oceans of Midgard by Odin. He grew so large that he managed to encircle the earth and grasp his own tail—when he lets go, the earth will flood, and he will leave the ocean and poison the sky. It's basically the Norse version of the Apocalypse—Thor will kill Jormungandr, but Jormungandr will poison Thor."

"Well that doesn't sound pleasant," Steve said, his nose wrinkling. "Thanks for the information, Miss Masters—"

"Oh, I'm not finished yet," Rebecca said. She pulled up a file on her computer, and Steve was surprised to see a drawing of the medallion—plus six more, all with different designs. "According to legend, these medallions were scattered across Midgard by Odin; one for each of Loki's children—Jormungandr, Sleipnir, Fenrir, Hel, Nari, Vali—and one for Loki himself. When Thor binds Loki in imprisonment, these medallions can be used as a sort of key to the jail, if you will. It has something to do with using the power of his children to escape, but I'm a little fuzzy on the details. It's magic, and all that jazz. But when Loki is freed, it is said that he will free Jormungandr's tail and flood the earth in his rage."

"I think Peggy might be trying to tell you something," Tony deadpanned.

"Yeah, it's uh, a lot less cute of a birthday present now," Steve said. "Miss Masters—is there anything in the legend about how to _find_ these medallions?"

"Well, sure," Rebecca replied cheerfully. She pulled up another file, with lots of text and pictures. "It's a quest all laid out, but of course none of the heroes ever undertake it because why would they? The medallions are all heavily guarded, either by virtue of their location or by various mythological monsters. I can e-mail you the article, if you like."

"We would very much like," Tony said. "Include anything relevant about the mythology if you can—descriptions of said mythological monsters, for instance. Steve here thought he might riff off that piece Peggy gave him, make a whole art exhibit around it—weren't you going to, Steve? Now you have a _much_ better theme than just serpents."

"Oh yes. Much better," Steve agreed. "Thanks for all your help, Miss Masters."

"Of course!" Rebecca replied brightly.

"Thanks sugar," Tony said, giving her a wink before steering Steve out of the office.

"Do you really think there could be some merit in what she's saying?" Steve asked in an undertone. Tony jabbed at the button to call the elevator.

"I don't know," he said, "but I think we better make a call to Asgard and find out." The elevator doors opened and they went inside. Steve hit the 'close doors' button before punching in the combination for the penthouse.

"How did this girl even know about the medallion? How did you find out she knew?" Steve asked. Tony shrugged.

"Crowd sourcing, Steve. I did a little sketch of it and sent out an e-mail to the building. Asked if anybody knew if there was any symbolism to it," Tony said.

"That was a risky move, Tony," Steve said seriously. "If _anyone_ in here is working with Hydra—"

"Then they won't know anymore than they did before, will they? If there's any merit to the legend, then there's no way Hydra left that behind on accident, which means they know that we have it. The question is: _why_?" Steve certainly didn't know the answer to that anymore than Tony did. His mind wasn't entirely on the case, though. He reached over and fixed Tony's tie, which had been loosened.

"She was a pretty girl," Steve murmured as he did so. Tony looked up at him inquisitively.

"I think she must have been a former model, yes. She is a beautiful woman," Tony replied. Steve removed his hands from the front of Tony's shirt. He looked away, studying the metallic elevator doors.

"Are you going to…?" Steve couldn't voice it, couldn't bring himself to say the words. Tony frowned, his eyebrows sticking together.

"Am I going to _what_?" he asked.

"She's a beautiful woman," he repeated, even more softly. He couldn't say it. Tony's eyebrows moved nearly to his hairline.

"You think—what—_no!_" Tony grabbed Steve's arms, forcibly turning him to face him. Well, 'forcibly'. Steve couldn't really be forced to do much of anything. Tony looked him right in the eyes, his own brown eyes full of passion and sincerity. "Steve. No. I was flirting with her because that's the easiest way to get what we needed. I'm not going to deny that she's pretty—I think you'd have to be a little touched in the head not to have some aesthetic appreciation for the woman—but I was just being…_me_. I flirt with everyone. It's what I do. You know that." He stood on the tips of his toes briefly to plant a gentle kiss on Steve's lips as the elevator doors opened to the penthouse. "Are we good?"

"Yeah," Steve said, taking his hand in his. "Yeah, we're good. I mean…it's not really my place, is it? But if you were going to…I'd appreciate it if you told me." The frown had returned to Tony's face.

"Ok. Right. Of course," he said. He broke away from Steve's hand and waltzed off through the penthouse. "JARVIS we need to get Fury on the line—we're going to need to make a really long distance phone call and I'm not footing the bill."

_February 21__st__, 2014, 18:13_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Triskelion, Manhattan_

Thor burst through the doors of the conference room in the Triskelion, dressed as he usually was in his bright armor and red cape. His expression was most serious.

"Director Fury spoke with me through the communication line we established. He did not wish to say much, but what he said troubled me. You are saying that in your Midgardian legends, this medallion has six sisters? And that they may free Loki from his imprisonment on Asgard? You are certain?" Thor demanded, directing the question to Steve.

"We know that the legend exists," Steve clarified. "We were hoping you might be able to clear up whether or not it's _possible_."

"I do not know," Thor admitted. "Loki's magic is far beyond me, and beyond the magic of any on Asgard. I would ask my father, but he has entered into the Odinsleep. I do not know for how long."

"The whole thing with the snake though, that's ridiculous. And I mean, come on, are these really Loki's kids? Your brother doesn't seem the paternal type," Tony said wryly.

"Jormungandr, Sleipnir, and Fenrir are Loki's pets, not his children. These others—Hel, Vali, and Nari—are his children, yes, but the last two are dead and Hel is half-dead herself. Fenrir is bound in chains as Loki is, and Jormungandr and Sleipnir have been banished off to I know not where," Thor said.

"Daddy Loki? Are you kidding me?" Tony scoffed.

"You must forget how old we are in mortal terms," Thor spoke. "We have lived long and seen much. Fatherhood is not the strangest thing to befall Loki." Thor stared at the table. His expression was—well, distant didn't quite cover it. Steve was almost relieved that there was someone more ancient than himself in the room—but then, Steve knew what a burden it could be, and he could feel no relief for Thor.

"I think our best course of action is to track down the medallions," Thor spoke after a moment. "We gather them before these fiends can find them. Then I will bring them to Asgard for safekeeping."

"So you really think there's merit in this story?" Tony asked. "How would he do it? How would a bunch of medallions magically release him from this super-strong Asgardian prison?"

"He would have to open a portal," Thor said, his voice low and dark. "He would have to open a portal to send him somewhere else. But to make a raw portal like that—not only would the energy required be immense, but the backlash would be unfathomable. Your legends speak of floods—yes, floods would happen. Earthquakes, too. The opening of a portal of that kind between Asgard and Earth would cause a massive reverberation—we call it the Pulse. A Pulse can be contained, with the proper magic, if the portal has been opened in the proper manner. But a Pulse uncontained…the force of it would kill all life on Midgard, and the affects on Asgard would not be pleasant, either."

"You're saying that if this crazy plan goes off without a hitch, we're all dead?"

"If this plan is hatched, man of Iron, then the earth is lost," Thor said gravely.

Steve looked at Tony. Tony looked at Steve. Tony clapped his hands together.

"Well, all right, who feels like going on a treasure hunt?"

_March 19__th__, 2014, 21:19_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Stark Tower – Penthouse, Manhattan_

Steve Rogers had possibly just had the weirdest month of his life, and that was saying something given his track record. But in the past almost four weeks, Steve had visited Atlantis, gotten thrown back in time into King Arthur's England, visited Ancient Mayan tombs and nearly been ripped apart by demonic dogs, had been chased through the streets of modern Tokyo by an ancient order of samurai, and explored an old mine in the depths of a mountain in Norway only to be attacked by some rather vicious Asgardian dwarves. Man, was Clint going to be ticked off that he'd missed all the action. Steve, on the other hand, was simply _exhausted_ from having experienced all the action.

Steve was sprawled out on Tony's couch, too tired even to sketch. He watched some obnoxious reality show about house renovation as Tony played with his tablet. They still didn't have any leads on the location of the final medallion—the medallion with the sigil of Loki himself. But at least the other six were now under Thor's twenty-four hour protection. It didn't much matter that they didn't have the last piece, so long as Hydra was denied the six pieces the Avengers had. It meant, essentially, that their mission was almost complete. It was now just up to Clint and Natasha to sniff out the buyers of the weapons and uncover the real inner circle of Hydra. It was only a matter of time. Steve felt like he could relax.

"Are you really watching this?" Tony asked, looking slightly scandalized.

"Hm?" Steve asked. The home renovation show was over now, and some other reality show was on with crazy-eyed women and little girls dressed like—_Jesus_. Steve knew that sometimes he was scandalized by the modern era when he probably should not have been, but he was pretty sure that being scandalized at the way these girls were dressed and made-up was perfectly acceptable in this case.

"I'm guessing you weren't paying attention," Tony said, a small smile playing on his lips. Oh, he must have said _Jesus_ aloud.

"Nope, I wasn't. What the hell is this?" he asked.

"_Toddlers in Tiaras_. You don't even want to know. It's like a train wreck; I'm pretty sure that's why people watch it," Tony said. "JARVIS find something Steve will actually _like_, please."

"Of course, Sir," spoke JARVIS, sounding a bit sarcastic. Steve couldn't help but jump a little. He would never get used to the AI. He still felt his skin prickle with gooseflesh every time he remembered the house was _watching_ him. He'd asked Tony if JARVIS was still on when they were—well, _enjoying themselves_, and Tony had said yes. Steve had suggested he turn JARVIS off in that part of the house whenever they started going at it, but JARVIS had interrupted and gotten rather annoyed. He seemed concerned for Tony's safety. Tony assured him that JARVIS didn't exactly _watch _so much as the _cameras_ were still operational, and reminded him that JARVIS was a _computer_, but Steve was still creeped out that Skynet was watching them have sex, and voiced his concerns in exactly that manner.

JARVIS didn't like him very much anymore. It was apparent in the little things. Like at that very moment, when he decided to turn on a porn channel. Steve turned a deep red. Tony barely even flicked his lids to the screen before saying dryly,

"I'm not so sure Steve likes to watch that so much as do it. Kindly change to something a little more G to R rated." JARVIS, who could not be accused of lacking a sense of humor (or vindictive nature), turned on _My Little Pony_.

"You know, I think I'm done with TV for the night," Steve said, exasperated. "Maybe I'll just sleep. I could really use a rest right now. Or a vacation, after the month we've had." Tony snorted.

"I hear you on that one. Say the word and we can be in Monaco by morning," he said. Steve considered it for a moment. He really, seriously considered it.

"Better not. Natasha and Clint might need us for something. Or something else might come up," Steve said. He tilted his head back and stared at the white ceiling. "But it's been a hell of a month."

"Once we've taken down Hydra, then," Tony said. "We can go on a vacation. You know, I don't even think you've been to my place in Malibu yet, have you?" Steve shook his head. "We should go there. I think you'd like it. You ever gone surfing? We could go surfing. Or just lay out on the beach."

"Mmm," Steve said. "That sounds nice. I wish we could have some kind of a getaway here, though. Now."

"Well, we did getaway to England for a little while before the whole going-back-in-time thing happened," Tony pointed out.

"Yeah. Yeah, we did," Steve said. He'd thought about it so many times. Thought about taking the train out to see Peggy while they were there. He might still do it, one day, though he didn't know what he'd say to her. And then they'd been thrown back in time, and for a second all Steve could think was, _why couldn't it be 1944? _But then, even if it was, Steve wasn't sure that he fit there anymore. But while Steve was in deep in thought, Tony climbed on top of him.

"You know, I can think of a way that we can getaway right here, right now, and it doesn't even involve leaving this room," Tony said.

"Oh, really?" Steve asked, playing innocent. "That would be great. Maybe you should show me." Tony groaned and Steve resisted the urge to laugh.

"_Gladly_."

_March 23__rd__, 2014, 15:14_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Coney Island, Brooklyn_

"This is one thing that hasn't changed," Steve said, grinning from ear to ear. Nathan's Famous hot dog stand still sold the same hot dogs. Steve had not been back to Coney Island since before his time on ice, hell, before his time in the _war_, but these hot dogs tasted the same as they had in 1942.

"So you can't say no to a good burger, and you can't say no to a good hot dog," Tony said, nodding sagely. "Yes, I think I've figured out how to make you my kept man for eternity. Fourth of July food. It makes sense. How else do you feed Captain America?"

"I also require apple pies," Steve deadpanned. Tony laughed.

"Well yeah, but you can make those yourself," he pointed out. They walked towards MCU Park, getting ready to enter the stadium for the game. Steve hadn't kept up much with baseball since he'd been _defrosted_ as Tony sometimes liked to tease him. He'd learned that the Dodgers had moved to Los Angeles, and that had pretty much killed any enthusiasm he still had for the sport after being woken to an outdated game that led him to believe he'd been captured by Hydra or the Nazis. He'd been genuinely surprised when Tony had presented him with two seats behind the dugout for the Brooklyn Cyclones. It was a new team, of course—well, new to Steve, anyway—and it was minor league, but it was _Brooklyn_'s team now, and, well, Steve had to get behind that. He and Tony took their seats—which were, of course, really fantastic seats—just as Steve finished his hot dog. He could feel the stares on them from the people around them, could hear the whispers of _Tony Stark _and a couple of _Rembrandt_, which was apparently Steve's nickname on the Iron Man fan sites and a couple of gossip rags since no one knew his actual name, but thankfully no one bothered them. Steve glanced over at Tony, a bit skeptically.

"You sure you want to sit through this game?" Steve asked.

"'Course I do," Tony said. He was sprawled out on his seat, one arm on the conveniently empty chair beside him. Steve for a moment wished that Tony would put an arm around _him_ instead. "Baseball. Guys hitting balls with sticks. It's great. Dad took me to a game when I was about seven."

"In other words, you hate it with every fiber of your being," Steve said with an eyebrow raised.

"Basically. But _you're_ gonna love it," Tony said, passing him his StarkPhone. "Those are all their stats for this season, and if you flip to the next page, it's the other team's. Now stats, _those_ are something I can get behind." Tony then began to rattle off some things about equations and predictions and the mathematics of sports, which Steve paid rapt attention to. It wasn't the complicated math Steve was used to hearing about from Tony—this was still complicated, but seemed more accessible.

When the game started, Steve found himself getting quite into it. They weren't the Dodgers, no, but they _were_ a Brooklyn team. He found himself booing with the other fans when the umpire made a bad call, found himself standing up and cheering when one of the players hit a home run. He pulled Tony up with him, who looked extremely amused and went along with it. When the Cyclones won, they all cheered again; they cheered so loudly and for so long Steve was sure his voice was going to be hoarse for hours afterwards.

And Tony, well, he seemed to genuinely enjoy himself, though perhaps not as thoroughly as Steve. Steve wanted nothing more than to kiss him when the game was done, wanted nothing more than to completely disregard the fact that they were in public. But of course, he couldn't do that. They hadn't talked about being seen together beyond being seen as good friends, not as far as the outside world was concerned, anyway. In fact, Steve didn't even know if Tony was _out_ to the world. Steve sure as hell wasn't, though nobody even knew his name. Still, that didn't change the fact that amid all the screaming fans, the hot dog smells and the cold March air, Steve desperately wanted to take Tony in a passionate kiss and profess his love for the man. But he couldn't do that.

"Tony, I don't know how you do it," Steve said as they walked out of the stadium towards a waiting limo, "but you sure know how to cheer me up. You're dead on, every time." He opened the door, letting Tony slide in first before clambering in after him.

"Well, I have a talent, what can I say," Tony said as Steve shut the door and Happy drove off. "I can make Steve Rogers incredibly happy, or I can piss him off to no end. Maybe that's my real superpower." Steve chuckled and leaned towards him.

"Maybe," he agreed. He toyed with the top button on Tony's pants. "And maybe I have a couple of super powers of my own that would make _you_ incredibly happy…" Tony made a noise that was halfway between a whine and a whimper.

"Happy," he said after a moment, temporarily lowering the divide as Steve gently kissed his neck, "please drive faster."

_April 2__nd__, 2014, 09:43_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Triskelion, Manhattan_

He was holding Tony's hand. Tony didn't seem to mind, despite the fact that the Triskelion was _sort of_ public space. But realistically, no one in the conference room at that moment _didn't_ already know that they were friends with benefits. Thor was there, Bruce was there, Coulson, Hill, and Fury were there, and Clint and Natasha were on the screen. It was basically just family. But Steve still felt a little giddy that Tony wasn't pulling his hand away. He was almost more focused on that than on what Clint and Natasha were saying. _Almost_.

"—so they obviously have different cells and divisions all over the world. I think the easiest way to do this would be to get them all together in one place and take them, quickly, and quietly, for interrogation. Even if they don't give us _all_ of the locations, just one with the plans and information still intact would be enough," Natasha said.

"How do you propose we get the three of them in a room together?" Steve asked. Natasha smiled.

"Exactly the way I said before. Wine 'em and dine 'em. Stark, how would you feel about hosting a very exclusive, invitation-only gala in Berlin in a few weeks?" Natasha asked.

"I'm guessing this is one party I should tell Pepper to stay far away from?" Tony asked.

"That would be wise."

"I'll get right on it. Give me some other suggestions for the invitation list so those three don't look like outliers, and I'll get right on it," Tony said.

"Good. It's settled then. Make sure to put all of us and some choice SHIELD agents on the list as well. Unofficially, of course. Fake identities would be best," Natasha advised.

"I have some suggestions for the agents we'll bring," Steve said. "But we'd better not use this line for too long, even if it is secure."

"Absolutely. I'll send Stark details later. Over and out," Natasha said, and the screen went dark.

"Well," Tony said with a grin, "at least this will be much more fun than our last mission."

"Don't be so sure," Steve said. He wasn't too terribly fond of parties.

_April 16__th__, 2014, 15:32_

_Location: New York City, NY, USA_

_Williamsburg Houses, Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

It was odd, having Tony in his apartment yet again. They had long since switched movie nights to Stark Tower whenever they were all around to actually participate. Tony had not in fact been to Steve's apartment in a few months, and before that he had never stayed there long. In fact, it felt so odd, Tony waltzing into his apartment after ringing the doorbell, that Steve was reminded of the first time Tony came in, with his offer for Steve to come and live in Stark Tower with the other Avengers. He remembered how out of place Tony looked. He still did. Steve wondered how out of place _he_ looked in Stark Tower. Despite his fashion sense slowly shaping to fit the present, he still belonged in Brooklyn, not a penthouse in Manhattan. For all he had grown to love Stark Tower, Brooklyn was still his home. It felt very strange to have Tony there.

"I am still so grateful you let me replace those couches," Tony said as he sunk into one. Steve was in the kitchen, making a sandwich, which was to be his first lunch for the day. He'd probably have an early dinner in a few hours, and then a later dinner after that. A sandwich wouldn't hold him for long.

"_Let_ you?" Steve asked. "I came back from work and the old ones were gone and these were here. But I wasn't about to complain about breaking and entering when I was getting nice couches out of the deal. How on earth did you manage that, anyway?" Tony just smiled.

"Can't a man have his secrets?" he asked. "I like to keep a bit of mystery about me, if you don't mind." Steve just snorted as he came to sit next to him.

"I think we're both way past mystery, Tony," Steve said. He took a bite of his sandwich while Tony watched the episode of _Mythbusters_ Steve had turned to. It was the only show without a script Steve actually liked. He swallowed. "Not that I don't want you here, Tony, but you don't usually come by—is anything wrong?"

"Hm?" Tony asked. "Wrong? Oh, no. Except that I learned from a very reliable source whose name may or may not begin with 'N' that you do not know how to dance. Which personally I find kind of unbelievable because _didn't you grow up in the 30s_? I mean come on, it was the Big Band era, and there was no TV, wasn't dancing kind of _it_ for entertainment? Anyway, it's unacceptable, because if you're going to the gala next week—and you _are_ going, that's not optional—you really need to know how to dance." Steve felt a pit settle in his stomach.

"_Peggy, this is my choice."_ _The sky looked white it was so cold, and the clouds seemed unbroken, an endless land above the ground, like you could jump out and land on pillows. The air whistled through the broken windshield, brutally, painfully cold. It whipped across his face, stinging. The air was thin here; it was already getting more difficult to breathe._

"You—she—I don't," Steve eventually managed to say. He couldn't quite gather his thoughts. They were too far away, stuck in 1944.

_"Peggy?" He wasn't sure what he was going to say._

_ "I'm here." He just wanted to hear her voice on the line. He was crashing the plane. He was trying not to think too much about what he was doing. He didn't know what he was going to say until he said it._

_ "I'm gonna need a raincheck on that dance." He could hear everything on the line. He knew, even over their static ridden connection that she was in tears. He hated that._

"Don't what?" Tony said. "Don't know or don't need to? Because I can guarantee that you need to know for this party. You're going to be a _hit_. You won't have to ask anyone to dance, they'll all be begging you. And I don't want you to blow your cover, Steve. Everyone there will know how to dance, basic cotillion anyway. We all go to rich snobby finishing schools and learn it. So. How about we make a date?"

_"All right. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork club." He could see the ice now. It almost looked like land. For half a second he wondered if he could land on it—but no, this thing would come right back up. He couldn't stop it. He could only crash it._

"Um, a date?" Steve asked a bit faintly. He wasn't really there anymore.

"Yeah, you know, a date. You and me, a dance hall, maybe dinner, things to follow afterward," Tony said.

_ "You got it."_ _It was a lie. He knew it was a lie. But he was pretending now. He'd swim to shore. He would make it. He would show up at the club in his uniform, and find Peggy waiting for him. They would dance. They would get married. They would have children—a little boy, and a little girl, with Peggy's dark hair and Steve's blue eyes. They would grow old and their children would get married and have children. Their life together wouldn't always be perfect, but it would be long, and it would be happy, and it would be perfect to Steve._

_ "8 o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late. Understand?"_

"There's this place in the East Village I think you'll like," Tony said. "Ella Lounge. They do a swing thing on Fridays." _Swing_. _Dance_. Tony wanted to dance. Tony wanted to take him dancing, wanted to _teach_ him dancing. Peggy was supposed to teach him dancing.

_"You know, I still don't know how to dance_," _he said. The ice was coming up fast now. It was white like the clouds, but far less inviting. That sheet of unbroken white was no pillow. He thought about Peggy, looked at her picture. The Stork Club. Eight o'clock, a week next Saturday._

_ "I'll show you how. Just be there," Peggy said. Time felt like it was slowing down as the ice crept closer. He could imagine the warm light of the Stork Club, could imagine _Moonlight Serenade_ playing as he put a hand around Peggy's waist and too her hand in his._

_ "We'll have the band play something slow."_

"So, what do you say? I've never had to teach someone but I've been told I'm a pretty decent dance partner," Tony said, a wry smile on his face. It was a smile that was slowly dissolving. "Steve?"

"_I'd hate to step on your—" The water hit the windshield, breaking the glass on impact. Steve was hit with the blast of icy water and thrown backwards. He felt himself hit a wall, felt the freezing water pounding down on top of him, and then he felt nothing at all._

"Um," Steve said, "I really…I really don't dance, Tony." He didn't know how. He wasn't sure he wanted to. He didn't really want to dance with anyone if it wasn't her. He just knew he'd look down, expecting to see her smiling face, expecting to see her gently curled hair, expecting to see those ruby red lips.

_A baseball game, from years ago, one that Bucky had insisted on heading to. Before the war. A girl whose accent wasn't _quite_ right, whose hair was too perfectly done, whose lipstick was just a shade out of fashion. The breeze wasn't the stale breeze of a hot day in New York, but a sweet, cool one, and no sunshine beat down on his skin. It was too comfortable for summer._

_ "You're in a recovery room in New York."_

_ Like hell._

"Well of course you don't dance _now_, because you don't know _how_, but I'll show you. It'll be easy, I promise. It'll be fun. Come on, dinner and dancing—what could be better?" Tony asked. It would be fun. Dancing with Tony was _bound _to be fun; with his ridiculous wit, he'd wipe away any awkwardness Steve felt. He could probably outdo any dame on the dance floor. He loved Tony. But all he could think was _eight o'clock at the Stork Club_. He hadn't ever made it. He _wouldn't_ ever make it. The time was long gone. He loved Tony, but he'd loved Peggy too. He still loved Peggy, too.

_ And then he was throwing off people—men and women alike—in business suits, funny suits, not the right colors, not the right cut, not the right silhouette, something was off, off, off. The building was so shiny, the doors and the walls were made entirely of glass. He burst onto the street, but even the pavement seemed wrong. The clothes were wrong. Confusing. Where the hell _was_ he? But then the cars, those were worse. They were fast, and they were the wrong shape, and all the buildings were tall and grey with glass, and then he was in a place he almost recognized, but lights were flashing all around him. So many lights, and moving pictures, like TV in full color, splattered across the sides of buildings. His heart was hammering._

"Tony, I really don't dance," Steve said, shaking his head. Tony frowned.

"But I'll _show_ you—"

"I don't want to, Tony," Steve clarified. "I don't want to." Tony's expression changed, then. It was guarded, defiant. It was an expression he'd seen many times before.

"Oh, I get it," he said. "Yeah, of course you don't want to. Because then it would be a _date_. A _real_ date. And what we're doing here—well, it bears _no resemblance_ to dating. At all. Not even a bit. And God forbid it look like we're _actually_ dating, God forbid the perfect Steve Rogers get into bed with _Tony Stark_." Steve blinked, suddenly confused.

"Wait—Tony—what—" but Tony was already up off the couch and headed towards the door.

"It's fine, Rogers," Tony said. "You're right. You're completely right. We're not dating. I'll see you in a week. I've got stuff to do. I'll have Pepper send you new clothes—no way in hell anything you've got in that closet is fit for a Gala."

"Tony, _wait!_" Steve said, hurrying after him, but Tony was already out the door. And how could he explain it? Was there a sane explanation? Steve didn't know. But all he could hear was faded strains of _Moonlight Serenade_, a smoky room, a ruby-red smile.

If he danced with Tony, that would all disappear.

_ He was surrounded, surrounded by black cars and men in armor. They had guns but they weren't aimed at him._

_ Asleep. Seventy years. _Seventy years_. Steve would have said it was impossible were it not for the evidence in front of his face, were it not for the loud noises and the stale New York air that smelled of cigarettes and hot dogs, were it not for the people suddenly crowding around, trying to get a look at what was happening, were it not for the moving pictures on the buildings, the different clothes on everyone. But if he was seventy years in the future, where did that leave him? He thought of Peggy. He thought of the Stork Club._

_ "You gonna be ok?"_

_ "Yeah. Yeah. Just. I had a date."_

_April 25__th__, 2014, 18:32_

_Location: Berlin, Germany_

_Haus der Kulturen der Welt_

Steve had no fond memories of Germany. He had not been back after the war for anything pleasant—missions, mostly, tracking down these rogue Hydra agents, and that one time with Loki. So this time, despite the dames—_women—_in glitzy dresses, despite the gentleman all polished and ready, Steve had no illusions that his time in Berlin would be _fun_. He looked through the crowd, trying to find Tony.

Tony hadn't spoken to him since he'd turned down his invitation to dance. He'd gone out of town (or so Pepper claimed, when he'd finally called her out of exasperation), and he wasn't answering his calls. He'd gone to Stark Tower, but the code for the penthouse wasn't working. Tony had changed it. Steve wouldn't have understood why his not wanting to dance was such a big deal, if Tony hadn't been so obvious about it. It was a date he'd been offering, a _genuine_ date, not a 'booty call' (Steve still hated that term—it was so vulgar), not burgers, but a _date_, and Steve had turned him down. And Tony was hurt. And that Tony was hurt _meant_ something. Steve hardly dared to hope that it meant what he _thought_ it meant, but he couldn't stop his heart from fluttering just a bit whenever it crossed his mind. Tony at the very least considered their affair as something _more_ than friends with benefits. Steve could work with that. If only Tony would _let_ him.

This was the one place he knew that Tony couldn't avoid him. He _had_ to be here, somewhere. Steve wasn't paying attention to anyone as he passed, though a few people called out to him in various languages—never his name, always simply _Rembrandt_. It was a bit weird to know that even in this corner of the globe the high society was up on the gossip rags. Though, once or twice when he heard _Rembrandt_ mentioned, he wasn't sure if the party in question was referring to _him_ or to the _actual_ Rembrandt, but Steve didn't care. He wasn't focused on any of that anyway. He was only focused on Tony.

"Stefan! Hauptman Stefan Rogge!" called a familiar voice, naming his fake identity. Steve turned around to see Natasha and Clint, arm in arm. Natasha wore a slinky, dark blue dress with elbow-length white gloves, and Clint wore a very well tailored tux. The wedding rings distracted Steve for a moment; right—in this little fantasy, the two of them were married. Steve put on his best smile and walked over. Natasha kissed him on both cheeks, and Clint gave him a one-armed hug that Steve returned. Steve did not miss the fact that they were standing next to the hard man Steve had pinned as former military. He had been correct on that matter; the man was Colonel Austerlitz. He wasn't old enough to have fought in Steve's war, by any means, but he was old enough to have been in the Nationale Volksarmee, the army of East Germany. Steve doubted he'd seen any actual action, but there was something to be said for living in a period where World War III could have broken out with a hair trigger, and having to serve on those front lines.

Colonel, I wonder if you've already been introduced to Captain Stefan Rogge? Natasha asked. Her German was perfect, of course. But Steve wasn't intimidated. So was his.

I have not. Colonel Erik Austerlitz, The Colonel held out his hand and Steve took it, eyeing the man carefully the entire time. I suppose you've served in Afghanistan with the ISAF?

Yes sir, Steve said. The Colonel grunted.

I thought so. We keep seeing these up-jumped young soldiers who've done something vaguely notable in combat but have no strategic sensibilities. It's become a plague of idiots, the Colonel said, sounding more than a little disgruntled. Steve raised an eyebrow.

Having been on the field, I rather prefer taking orders from someone with _legitimate_ combat experience, sir. I don't mind so much whether he's young or old, Steve said, a bit bitingly. Apparently, it was just the right amount of insulting, as the Colonel laughed.

Did you just insult me, boy? he asked. I didn't know they were still making young soldiers with brass balls. All of them, they take one look at me and they run with their tail between their legs. Colonel Austerlitz clapped him on the shoulder. Come! Tell me all about your time overseas.

Oh, I'd rather here about _your_ experiences, Colonel. I would like to learn as much as I can, to get where you are one day, Steve said. He wished they didn't have a mission to complete. He needed to talk to Tony, but Natasha was sending him a clear message. The Colonel would be his to drag off to a quiet corner and knock out. Natasha and Clint had other objectives.

You are a kiss ass, Rogge, the Colonel said, but I like you anyway. Come! Come, I think Stark sprung for the good brandy…

Steve was more dragged off by the old man than was Steve doing the dragging. The old man found the bar and took a seat, ordering brandy after brandy but never seeming to grow particularly intoxicated as the sun went down. Steve had a few different pills stashed away in his German military dress uniform (something Steve was a little loathe to wear, if he was being entirely honest), and he was considering breaking one open and slipping it into the old man's drink. That's what they were _there_ for. But it felt so dishonorable, and he wasn't sure how he was going to get the man _out_ either. Would anyone notice if he 'helped' the 'drunk' old man outside? Hopefully not.

…isn't it? the Colonel asked.

Hmm, sorry? Steve asked, snapping back into the moment.

I said, curious name you have, isn't it? the Colonel said. He sipped on his brandy as Steve's hackles rose and dread crept into his veins. Captain Stepan Rogge. If you Anglicize it, it's Captain Steven Rogers, is it not?

I suppose, Steve said, doing his best to sound disinterested. Is there something unusual about that?

Not at all. Except it happens to be the identity of Captain America, the Colonel said. Steve raised an eyebrow.

The one from World War II? The one that died in a plane crash? Steve asked.

Or the one in the infamous Avengers, the Colonel said, staring him down. Steve wondered what he'd _really_ been drinking all night, and was suddenly grateful for his own super metabolism that kept him from getting intoxicated. Steve laughed, though it was difficult to do so.

He would have to be in his nineties if he lived! Colonel, I think you've had a bit too much to drink, Steve said. The Colonel smiled.

No, I don't think so. In fact, I think that honor belongs to you, he said. Captain America. Steve was about to open his mouth to say something, or maybe he was just tensing to tackle the man right in the open and get him to SHIELD as quickly as possible, when he heard a gunshot ring out. Suddenly, everyone was screaming and running this way and that, but Steve couldn't make sense of anything. His ears were ringing, despite not having been that close to the shot, and suddenly the masses of people were a blur. He looked around wildly for any of his teammates, but he didn't see anyone. He tried to take a step, but he tripped and fell on the ground as the world spun around him. His muscles felt weak, weaker than before the serum. He felt his arms and legs begin grabbed. There were people now, wearing masks, dragging him up. He struggled, but it wasn't enough. The Colonel laughed.

Go ahead and try, Captain, he said, leaning in close to Steve's face. The Colonel grabbed at the bottom of his neck and tugged and Steve's whole brain recoiled in horror. He didn't have to see it. He knew what would come next. He didn't want to believe it, but there he was, hovering over him: the Red Skull, returned. "Go ahead and _try_."

Steve did. He struggled as hard as he could as the skull _laughed_, but already he was feeling his strength returning. He could feel the grip of the Hydra agents loosening from his movements—but then he felt a prick in his arm, and the whole world went dark.

_April 26__th__, 2014, 03:52_

_Location: Unknown_

Steve could hear voices, but he couldn't quite make out what they were saying. He opened his eyes slowly, bracing for the light, but not much light ever came. Where ever he was, it was dim.

"Steve?" suddenly Tony's face was in his field of view. "Oh, I'm glad you're awake. We were wondering what in the _hell_ they gave you to knock you out." Steve's ears were still ringing a bit, and his head was pounding. He felt sick to his stomach, and he resisted the urge to hurl. He sat up very slowly, taking in the room. It was small. It looked like some sort of prison cell. The walls and the ceiling were all made of the same type of solid metal. He couldn't even see any bolts. The floor was concrete, with a large drain in the corner, beneath a rusted, leaky faucet. He was sitting on a dirty cot, held up by the wall with chains. Bruce sat in the corner opposite the faucet, doing some sort of breathing exercise. Steve didn't even have the energy to worry about him turning into the Hulk at the moment. Thor sat beside him. Natasha stood with Clint on the other side of the room, still in her slinky, blue evening gown and Clint in his tux.

"What the hell happened?" Steve asked as Tony sat beside him. "_Thor_? You weren't even _on_ this mission, what are you doing here? Where are we?"

"We got taken out, Captain," Natasha said. "We should have seen this coming, Clint."

"Hindsight's twenty-twenty, Natasha," Clint replied. He sighed, then looked to Steve, "Our cover was blown. They came to that party ready for us."

"I kind of figured that part out when the Colonel drugged me and then _turned into the Red Skull_," Steve snapped. "What _happened_?"

"It was Sigyn. If lack of foresight is the fault of anyone here, it is my own," Thor said, sounding deeply aggrieved. "Sigyn is Loki's wife."

"Ok, first Loki has kids, now he's got a wife?" Tony asked. "This is a little too domestic for me. It's not really computing with _evil mastermind Loki!_"

"Take care how you speak. He is still my brother," Thor said, but there was no anger to it. He sounded resigned. "Sigyn is my brother's wife. She has begged me ever since his imprisonment to set him free, and I have each time refused her. She has begged to see him as well. This I resisted less well and deferred to my father, but he denied her.

"Yesterday, I discovered the last medallion was in her possession and attempted to wrest it from her, but she resisted and slipped away to Midgard. I tracked her here, only to find her at this party. I do not know how she did it, but Sigyn used her own magic to render me unconscious. She took the other medallions from my person," Thor said. The shame in his voice, on his face, was immense.

"So, basically, we did the leg work for them," Steve said. He shook his head. "_Jesus_, should have seen that coming. But what happened at the party? I heard a shot go off."

"That was me," Natasha said. "Target number three was about to put a dagger through Clint's throat, so I put a bullet in her brain. That's when the other Hydra agents showed up. There were too many. We were overwhelmed. Got tied up, blindfolded, thrown in a van with the rest of you and then transferred in here."

"I couldn't activate the armor in time," Tony added with a frown. "I'm harder to take down than I was a couple of years ago, but I still can't match Clint or Natasha. They hit Bruce with a sedative dart, before he could hulk out and make a mess. I think he was the first one to go down."

"Good news is, SHIELD was all over that place, so they at least know that we were taken, even if they don't know where just yet," Clint said.

"Bad news is that they don't know the medallions have been stolen. They won't be after Hydra, they'll be too busy looking for us," Natasha said.

"By the time they find us, there won't be anything left to find," Steve said gravely. "Ok, how the hell are we getting out of here? Can we break the door?"

"It's made of the same gold-titanium alloy my armor is. It's not looking likely, unless we want to unleash the Hulk and take our chances," Tony said.

"Not a good plan," Bruce said in a very strained voice.

"Really not a good plan," Steve agreed. He got up off the cot and walked a few paces. "Thor, any chance you can use your lightning to blast us out?"

"Alas, I do not have my hammer. I have tried to call Mjolnir, but have received no response. I think it is more of Sigyn's sorcery," Thor replied. "Without Mjolnir, I cannot command the lightning."

"There is one way we could get out," Tony said slowly. Steve fixed his gaze on the other man. He had a very bad feeling about this for some reason.

"Well then speak up Stark, we don't have all day! Every second we waste is another second that puts the world in danger," Natasha said.

"The lock. I'm sure you've noticed it's electronic," Tony said.

"Can you hack it?"

"It's not a computer, Steve. There's nothing I can do with it in that way. The only way to break that lock would be to overload the circuits," Tony said.

"That doesn't help us then. Thor doesn't have Mjolnir. We don't have any electricity," he said. Tony looked at him, his gaze locked on Steve's blue eyes, and Steve felt the world fall away, felt his heart stop, felt his stomach drop out of his body.

"No," Tony said, "we don't have Mjolnir. But we have an arc reactor."

_April 26__th__, 2014, 04:55_

_Location: Unknown_

"Hurry it up Bruce," Steve said anxiously. Every second counted. Every _millisecond_ counted.

"Going as fast as I can, Captain," Bruce replied. He was working with the wiring, slipping it in underneath a tiny edge Thor had pulled up on the lock. "Almost…and…there." As soon as he spoke, the arc reactor lit up even brighter, making a desperate whirring sound like an overheated laptop. It flashed brightly, there was a click, and then the arc reactor dimmed, and the whirring stopped. Steve picked up Tony.

"You know I can walk for a bit—"

"_No arguments!_" Steve said. Natasha gently opened the door. There was the _rat tat tat_ of machine gun fire, and Natasha slammed it shut as bullets hit the door. "Bruce! SUIT UP!" Bruce nodded curtly. He rushed to the door and ran at it, changing from man to monster slowly as he went. He rushed out the door and changed completely. The Hulk roared with fury and charged the men. "_Go, go, go!"_

They evacuated the prison. Outside were more halls, all dark and all made of metal. It was like a maze. Smoke was in the air, and every now and again he had to dodge a stray bullet. Clint and Natasha flanked him and Tony as they ran, taking down any Hydra agents that dared to come up from behind.

"Captain!" they hit an intersection, and agents were coming up on them from behind and from both sides.

"SPLIT UP!" Steve yelled to them. The four of them took separate directions, Steve jumping into the lightest guarded hall. He took down an agent with only his feet.

"Kind of a bumpy ride," Tony said. His voice sounded strained, and he was getting paler with each passing minute.

"Just hang in there Tony. I've just got to find a power source—" Steve leapt out of the way as an agent started firing at them. What Steve wouldn't give for his shield. He charged the agent and took him down with a body slam. "Just a little longer, Tony, I promise." Steve looked down at Tony. Tony was smiling, but he looked kind of out of it.

"You know," Tony said, "if I'm going to die today, I'm glad the last thing I'll see will be your face."

"Dying's not an option, Tony," Steve said, as he felt the blood drain from his face. "It's _not_. Do you hear me? No dying today. I just have to find a power source. Just one _power source_ does no one have a _goddamn flashlight?_" He heard a very familiar sound from behind him and leapt out of the way on instinct. Energy blasted the wall, and Steve turned around. It was a Hydra agent, equipped with one of the new (old? Old-new?) Hydra weapons, with its telltale blue glow. Steve smiled.

"Looks like I found that flashlight."

_April 26__th__, 2014, 05:05_

_Location: Unknown_

Steve, after taking down the Hydra agent and stealing the gun, grabbed Tony and looked frantically for somewhere secure. He happened across an empty room and went inside, setting Tony gently on the floor.

"Still with me Tony?" Steve asked. Tony gave him a weak smile.

"Not going to get rid of me _that_ easy, Cap," he said. His voice was hoarse.

"Good, because you're going to have to help me jerry rig this thing," Steve said. He handed the gun to Tony while he opened up the back, where the modified arc reactor was set.

"No problem. Do you see a blue wire?"

"They all look kind of blue…"

"Which one is the _most_ blue?"

A Hydra agent stormed through the door, but before Steve could even react, Tony had aimed and fired the weapon. Steve just blinked.

"Ok, show me the back," Tony said. Steve helped hold the heavy gun in place while Tony worked through the wires, occasionally setting one out for Steve to hold. When he was done, Steve had three wires in hand, and Tony was even paler than before. "Ok, now, strip the wires, and then you're going to have to plug it into…there's a plate, in there…just slip them underneath…" Tony's breathing was getting a bit labored, and his face was paler than Steve had ever seen on a living man. Steve did his best to keep his hands from shaking as he removed the plastic from the wires with a bit of broken glass from the floor.

"Ok, Tony, so I put them under the plate?" Steve asked, but there was no answer. Steve looked up. Tony's eyes were closed. "Tony?" There was no response and Steve went cold all over. He took a deep breath and steadied his hands. _Just slip it under the plate, Rogers. Just slip it under the plate_. Carefully, ever so carefully, Steve did just that. It was a tight fit, keeping the wires in place by virtue of the pressure of the plate. He heard the reactor whir. He waited, watching Tony anxiously.

Nothing happened.  
"Tony?" Steve asked again. He felt sick. He felt more than sick. The worst had happened. The shrapnel had already reached his heart. He'd died from internal bleeding. There was nothing Steve could do. Home was gone again. He pulled Tony to him, not sure what to do. Later, he would realize he was going into shock, which was part of the reason why no tears formed in his eyes, why he took it all _too_ calmly. The others, well, hopefully they would find the medallions. The Pulse wouldn't destroy the world, Loki would not be released, and they'd save the day. But Steve wouldn't help them. He was done. He was done with everything. He couldn't do this anymore, couldn't do this without—

There was a ragged gasp, and Tony opened his eyes.

"What'd I miss?" Tony asked. "Please tell me you kissed me." Steve let out a strangled yell and just held Tony tighter. He pulled him into a passionate kiss, and then released him, just so glad to see those brown eyes open and so very alive.

"Tony," he said very seriously, choking back tears, "I am never going to _stop_ kissing you."

_April 26__th__, 2014, 06:45_

_Location: Steinreich, Germany_

"Here you go, soldier," Fury said, handing Tony the Iron Man briefcase. Tony sat on a stretcher from the SHIELD EMTs, leaning back against the crunchy mattress.

"Still not a soldier," Tony said, snatching the briefcase from Fury. He practically attacked it, getting it to open itself up and form around the air. The arc reactor in its chest glowed brightly. Tony carefully began to take it out. "Ok, Steve, now get this Macgyvered battery off me." Steve chuckled. He'd been complaining for the last ten minutes, ever since SHIELD arrived and took down the rest of the Hydra base, that carrying the heavy gun now attached to his chest was a pain in the ass.

"All right," Steve said, taking the gun in one hand and the wires in the other. "Ready?"

"Yes!" Tony said, sounding exasperated. Steve removed the wires, and Tony attached the arc reactor from the suit to the base plate and slowly put the reactor back into his chest. Steve couldn't help but sigh in relief. He felt much more at ease, seeing that familiar blue-white glow in Tony's chest. Steve put the gun down and handed Tony his shirt.

"All good?" Steve asked.

"All good, Captain," Tony replied. Steve nodded. He was still going to make Tony go through SHIELD's medical screening, just to double check, but he wasn't going to tell Tony that just yet. "So Thor got the medallions back and we're all good, right?"

"So it would seem," Steve said. He and Tony had, just an hour earlier, witnessed a truly epic battle between Thor and Sigyn. Sigyn wasn't much of a fighter, but she was very good at conjuring mythical beasts to do the heavy lifting for her. One of them had been a giant snake, though Steve had no idea whether or not the snake was Jormungandr or not. Whatever it had been, Thor bashed its head in with his hammer, after which he'd taken Sigyn as prisoner and ripped the medallions from her. Thor thought it would be best to return to Asgard for a time and sort things out. He had promised to give the medallions back to his father, Odin, who might find a more suitable hiding place for them, or who might even find a way to destroy them all together, though Thor seemed to doubt it.

Clint, Natasha, and Bruce were around somewhere, likely clearing the building of any useful information. This was not, as far as they were aware, Hydra's main base. And the Red Skull was still out there. Steve would have plenty to worry about in regards to that in the future, and tomorrow he would put all his effort into finding the Red Skull and destroying him once and for all. But that was all for tomorrow. Steve took Tony's hand. Tony gave him a playful grin.

"Oh, what, are we all for PDA now, Captain?" he asked. Steve smiled slightly and brushed a lock of hair from Tony's face.

"I just don't want to let you go," Steve said. "I thought I lost you."

"I'm too young to die," Tony said, waving it away. Then he looked up at Steve, hesitant. "So…what you said back there…was that just, you know, captivity induced, the-world-is-ending emotion, or…?" Steve leaned down and kissed Tony fiercely. There was a lot of kissing that day.

"What do you think?" he asked, when they finished. Tony looked hesitant again so Steve rolled his eyes and kissed him a second time. "Are you getting the picture yet?" Tony's head tilted.

"You know, I am a scientist, and I don't think I've ruled out all the variables yet, so, I might need another, just for data—" Steve laughed and attacked Tony's mouth again, and Tony kissed him back just as passionately.

"OI! You two! Let's get on the jet and get out of here, come on!" Clint shouted. Steve and Tony looked over. Clint looked exasperated. Bruce was blushing a bit. Natasha had the _tiniest_ of smiles.

"So, what do you say, soldier? Shall we get up and go home?" Tony asked. Steve just kept smiling, and squeezed Tony's hand.

"I'm already home," he said. He leaned down and gave Tony one more kiss, until Tony pulled away.

"Ok, but seriously, let's get back to New York," Tony insisted.

"Tony, you ruined the moment."

"No, I think you ruined the moment with the cheesiest line I've ever heard. Where did you get that from? The Hallmark channel? Have you been watching _Seventh Heaven _again? I think we've left you alone with the television one too many times."

"I was being _sincere_ you ass hat."

"We also need to work on your insults."

"To_ny_," Steve groaned. Tony laughed, sliding off the stretcher. Steve helped to steady him.

"Come on Captain," he said, "let's go home."

As Steve helped Tony towards the jet, he saw his friends all waiting for them. As he approached, Clint joked about frail old men, and Tony shot back something about pictures of Clint in tights and circus acts, which Steve didn't understand, but it made Clint scowl. Natasha just rolled her eyes, and Bruce had a smile on his face, despite still looking a bit green from his latest hulk out. They bantered and laughed, and Steve knew that the long jet ride home would be filled with more of the same. They'd saved the world—again—they could take a night off. They'd have burgers, and watch a movie after arguing for an hour about which one. Steve would make popcorn, and they would all make a game of making Clint catch it with his mouth. Bruce would make his tea and argue that the portrayal of whatever country the movie was set in was inaccurate for some reason or another, or that the fictional science was laughable, which Tony would agree with. He always agreed with Bruce.

After the others left for their separate floors, he and Tony would have the best night they ever had together. It would be slow, and sweet, and tender. It would be the first of many nights they'd spend together. For the rest of their lives, maybe. Eventually, they'd catch the Red Skull, and Steve could feel more at peace, but they wouldn't stop fighting. The Avengers would go on, saving the day. But they'd also go on with movie nights and arguments over pizza toppings and arguments over more serious things and reconciliations and loving each other. Because they were a family. Steve's family.

And for the first time, Steve realized on that jet as he held Tony's hand and thought about all of this, Steve was not reminiscing about the past. He was dreaming of the future. He smiled, slowly, as his teammates joked and bickered around him, because he was home. Finally, after all this time, Steve Rogers was home.


End file.
